A Love Lost
by Devil's Espresso
Summary: It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all.Please Note: All flashbacks are italicized.
1. Chapter 1

Green eyes followed the hulking figure longingly as it traveled across the mouth of the cave for a towel. In the flickering twilight, it was hard to distinguish his features. A few people mulled around the outside of the cave, but no one could be found within the shaded, rocky interior. Kate was supposed to have lit the fire, but it had conveniently slipped her mind as she watched the man travel back to the burbling little waterfall at the cave's left side. His sloping shoulders moved back and forth with his steps, his muscles rippling under his tanned skin. She could just make out his sharp, square jaw-line, or maybe she was imagining it. She knew his face well.

An old song came to mind, "got to be good looking, cause he's so hard to see". The thought of the song teased her lips, urging her to hum, to reveal her presence to him. She realized, restraining herself, how angry he would be to find her outstretched on the dirt floor, chin cupped in her hands. Admiring him. Instead she freed one hand from her chin, bit her lip to keep from uttering a sound, and began twirling one, long curl of dark hair around a slender finger. Straining her eyes, she looked after the man, who was now-- wait... what? Unzipping his jeans? Kate bit her lip harder, almost wanting to spring up and run away, her pride hurt at what she seemed to be doing.

She swallowed a giggle as it fought its way up her throat. She was peeping. She felt like a promiscuous teen, watching the pretty boy in the shower across the apartment complex. She closed her eyes for a minute, smiling. _It's not like I can see anything_, she mused, turning her eyes up again.

Bending over, he filled several bottles with the clear water that fell from the slight overhang. Kate wondered bemusedly if anyone else was watching him. He really was quite indecent. _Then again,_ she thought, _he probably doesn't care. _She realized with a mingling of pride and shame that he _would_ care if he knew she was following him with her eyes. Methodically, he poured the bottles of water over himself, his legs, his hair, careful not to allow any to fall back into the little pool. Snatching one of the towels recovered from the luggage, he began drying himself off, shaking his hair out. He was still in the dark when he began to pull his boxers and jeans back over his legs. Looking around, he grinned, dimples breaking the rough shadows of his cheeks, "Hey, Freckles."

Her eyes widened, he wasn't even looking in her direction. She pursed her lips into a thin, colorless line, continuing to stare at him. He, in turn, continued to look away.

"Yeah, I saw you there, been watchin' me," he said, still grinning, "been peepin'."

Kate stood up, shrugging her shoulders, and brushing herself off, "No, I was sleeping," she said, quite blankly, "why would I watch you?" _When had he noticed? How long ago?_

He walked steadily towards her, laughing as he grabbed a black button-up shirt from its place, strewn messily across a large rock, "You're a holler."

"That so?" Kate asked, hands akimbo, eyebrows raised, wishing now that she had run away.

"Yeah, Freckles, that's so," he repeated her with a mocking smile, pulling his left arm through one of the shirt's sleeves.

"Yeah, well, I've got to go find Jack --" She said, pretending to lose interest in the conversation, though, in truth, she was aching inside at the sudden rush of his long-absent attention. She paused, considering his face. She wanted desperately to run her palms across his rough cheeks, but she knew how he would respond if she crossed the newly drawn platonic boundary. _That won't go over well._ She didn't want to be hated by him. Kate found it everything but possible to understand him, maybe she always would.

He took advantage of her long, staring silence by saying derisively, "Ohhh. That's right, forget about me. You go find your doctor," he finished, emphasizing the last two words in a purposely hurtful manner.

Kate felt as though she'd been stabbed. She got that feeling from him a lot, sometimes, even, she wondered if he just liked to pain her. _Little sadistic, right?_ But she didn't know enough, though he was indeed a bastard. A pig. She'd always known it, but, still, she was drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame long burnt out.

He shook his head, scowling and turning away, letting a small sound of disappointment escape his mouth. _Why is he teasing me?_ He hated her, he had professed his hate to her, even, and, now... now he was gone. She had been so lost in her own head she hadn't even noticed him turning to leave the caves. _Why bother following him?_

A long time ago, she had admitted she was in love with him, unsure now that it had eve been true. Admitted it to herself, but no one else. She thought he'd gotten the message after everything that had happened between them, but still he had told her he hated her. Told her she was better off without him. He had said lots of things. _Did he mean any of it?_ _Probably,_ she thought, slumping against one of the seats in the dark cavern, closing her eyes and running a hand through her hair.

_Jack... my doctor_, she wondered, _but do I really even know him?_ She was torn. She could not move past Sawyer, she could not let the man who did not care for her any longer out of her life. _What is Jack, anyway?_ She asked herself, feeling tired. _A band-aid,_ she thought, _a little band-aid for a much bigger wound_. She knew he must love her. He followed her around, he was tender, unnecessarily so. _He's like a little love-sick dog,_ she realized, almost disgusted. Sometimes, Kate could appreciate how much he cared, but, often, she just felt like a silly little girl again. The same silly little girl who'd had dreams of being beautiful, cared for, intelligent. _Perfect._ _Kate. Everyone's favorite._

_Who am I kidding?_ Kate sagged, exhaling. _This must be love._ It always had been, ever since she saw him. He would never love her back, not now, and she was trapped in a helpless cocoon by that knowledge. _But was it love? Or was it just that angry, toying game they played with each other?_ The thought returned to her mind for the umpteenth time that evening. Certainly, sometimes, it was about beating him, beating him at life. Getting more points in their obscure little competition. However often it was just a game for Kate, it was always that way for Sawyer.

Clutching her knees in her arms, she looked down. Her cheeks felt wet suddenly, had she been crying? Raising a hand to her face, she realized with quiet chagrin that she had. _I'm so weak_, she almost said aloud, clutching her legs tightly.

Two months ago Sawyer had come back to her, back from his trip. She'd never said goodbye. _Figures that he got sick._ She almost felt it was her doing, that he should fall so ill, and with a bullet wound, of all things. Kate felt almost that it was because he had gone without her blessings, without one last lingering kiss, that he had come so close to death. He had bounced back quickly, he always did. He always would. It was a law of life for him, things weren't as he wanted. Sawyer wanted to die, she didn't know why, and he'd probably never talk about it, she realized with useless exasperation. It had something to do with the letter, she knew. Everything, it seemed, that he did for other people, was done with the ulterior purpose of dying or mortally wounding himself. She had pointed it out to him once, only to be rewarded a glare and told to go to hell.

_ It was a week since he had recovered from the wound, and he was up and about, pretending nothing had happened. Upon going down to the Hatch to see him, she had almost laughed at him. How typical. How typical of him to be pretending he was fine._

_"Damn doctor's makin' me stay down here for two more weeks," he had mumbled gruffly upon seeing her, the slightest twinkle of joy showing in his eyes._

_ Upon seeing him this first time since she had nursed him back to health, she could only wonder if he knew. How she'd held him, how she'd kissed him, how she'd cared. He seemed to feel hated, all the time, and she didn't know how she could change that. He would never know the things she did for him. She sighed, frustrated, when she was sure by the distracted glances he was casting around the artificially lit room that he didn't know. Or maybe he did? She thought suddenly as he looked to her again, leaning against the bunk bed's side post, "so whatcha doin' down here Freckles?"_

_"Just coming to check on you," she said, matter-of-factly, also leaning against a wall, arms crossed to mimic his devil-may-care stance._

_"Well, I'm just fine," he said, straightening himself up and shifting to lean in her direction, "any other particular reason you're down here, darlin'?" He asked in a poorly disguised tone of hopefulness._

_"No... uh..." she stammered, biting her lip, stifling laughter. Taking on a greasily sarcastic tone she grinned, "other than because I'm madly in love with you and I just can't resist being around you."_

_"I knew it," he smiled, biting back, "you're so cute when you tease me."_

_She felt herself blushing from the tip of her chin to the roots of her rough, curly hair, she looked down, as to hide her bright red features._

_"Aw, what, ya' blushin' now? I mean, I knew you liked me, but..." his voice trailed off, a cocky smirk appearing on his face._

_She laughed mockingly. He was getting points in their game now. How was she to score them back? Were there any tenser ways to torture him? She caught herself admiring him again as she pondered her dilemma._

_"Oh, what Freckles, you want a kiss? Again? I mean, I know how enamored of me you are and all, but you're quite demanding, girl." His posture became more and more confident with each word._

_ Kate giggled again, somewhat uncomfortably. Not only because of the electrical current flowing between them, but because, as usual, he had somehow guessed her precise thoughts. She wasn't going to touch him now, how obvious would that be? Nope, she'd just have to up and leave. Damn._

_He turned away, shrugging, laughing faintly as he walked further from her, toward the bunk again. Kate remained where she was, thinking, arms still crossed, brow furrowed. Suddenly he whipped around and took her arm, drawing her toward him. Her heart beat feverishly in her chest, what the hell was he doing! He craned his neck slightly and bent to kiss her, but she realized his plans first and drew back, "What the hell is wrong with you?" She almost yelled, flattered, but mostly astonished, a little offended. She had wanted it, always, but on her terms. And for him to do that when she was... when she was ready to leave... she stared, flabbergasted._

_ He looked offended too, but puzzled most of all. He had known, of course, that she'd wanted him. What Sawyer didn't know was Kate's fear of a relationship. He didn't know about anything that had anything to do with her, in all honesty. Sawyer was left to stare after her, ashamed with himself, and disappointed with her, as she stormed out of the hatch._

_Kate, in keeping with her reaction to Sawyer's approach, had spent the afternoon sulking. Not because he had tried to kiss her, no, she didn't care about that. He had known her mind. She was so used to having her constant come-ons ignored. The sudden shock of his attention, as usual, had her astounded and scared. And of course, the best way to deter fear is to be angry, to pretend you couldn't give less of a damn._

_That had started it_, Kate realized, rousing herself from the memory. That was the start of their little whirlwind these past two months. That was why he hated her, and why her professed love for him had faded considerably. Fruitlessly, she tried to turn her thoughts away from the day. _Let bygones be bygones._

"Kate," rang a clear voice, echoing throughout the cave, "are you alright?"

There's _my _ doctor, she thought, discontentedly remembering Sawyer's last words to her. It must have been hours, the new moon was rising steadily, flooding the cave with its white light. The sun had gone down completely, and all that was left was the great white body, and the twinkle of the stars.

"Kate?" Jack repeated, edging nearer, "hey... you're crying." He noted with concern as he lifted her chin from her knees, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kate said with a faint trace of a pout, "Just thinking."

Jack grimaced, "Don't spend too much time on that," he quieted, looking as though he was ready to leave, "Hey, we've caught a new boar, if you..."

"I'm not hungry," Kate said moodily, turning away from him.

"You've gotta eat Kate," he insisted, reaching out to help her up.

"I'm fine," she said, eyes downcast.

"I can't force you," Jack said quickly, hoping to lure her out of the caves by giving up. He stood again, "but we're gonna be eating just outside, so if you want to come, we're right there."

As he turned to leave, he gestured to the fire Kate had neglected to light, "You should light that, it's getting dark. And cold."

Kate looked absently through the darkness at the pile of charred sticks, "I think I did... a while ago," she answered, straining her memory, knowing she had not, "but it went out."


	2. Chapter 2

The stars twinkled mischievously against the dark sky, eternally failing to light the beguiling depths of space. Entranced, Kate stared upward, trying to pick out constellations. It was a futile effort to keep her mind occupied. She didn't know the constellations well, and she had no idea what to look for. Extending an arm, she traced the outline of three stars in a line, _I know that one. _She marveled at it, with a small swelling of pride. "Orion's belt," she whispered, smiling to herself as she scanned the other points of the hunter's body. The feeling of self-satisfaction was short lived, her restless mind continued to mull over just one thing. _Sawyer._ Who was she kidding? She cared, and she couldn't even hide it from herself.

Upset at her own weakness, she sat up, staring out into the leafy undergrowth of the nearby jungle. The little waterfall just outside the mouth of the caves continued to burble giggling promises. She closed her eyes to compose herself, irritated profoundly by the jubilant sound. Standing, and brushing a chocolate curl of hair from her face, she resolutely began to stride down the path to the beach. A mile, at most, she thought, laughing easily at the short distance.

She stared down at her feet, enjoying each sharp crack of the sticks she tread on with her hiking boots. The path was well worn from the many feet that walked it, she wasn't going to lose her way. Yet she was still amused at the thought of the fit Jack would have to see her wandering through the jungle at night.

She could see the sun's first light breaking the horizon, faintly straining to be seen over the treetops. Silently, she stopped to admire the pretty cerulean color it created against the black-lit canopy of the sky. A noise came from the undergrowth to her left. Her heart skipped a beat, but she stayed in place. Feeling panic creep into her mind, she breathed softly of the night air, trying to calm herself. _What **was** that?_ Closing her eyes again, Kate turned away from the sound and carried on her way along the path.

The easygoing stride choked again as another crack followed in her wake. _And that?_ Her heart throbbed dangerously in her chest. Her weary mind turned over all sorts of insane possibilities, unearthing childhood nightmares about being chased down grungy alleyways with no way out. She stood still, arms straight at her sides, squeezing her eyes shut just one more time, "one..."

A hush followed the beginning of her count, "... two," she whispered, carefully controlling her voice, "Three."

Kate thought she heard a rustling in the brush again, and maybe even saw a shadow flit across her field of view, or maybe it was a trick of the slowly growing dawn light. She shook her head, heart still thundering, "Four..." she paused, listening for any sound of her follower, "Five."

Taking a deep breath, Kate called out boldly, "I know you're there."

There it was again, the shaking, scuffling noise in the deep green undergrowth. But this time, a figure emerged. He was tall, older, with a look of profound strength. He looked at her levelly, lifting a hand to scratch his bald scalp, "Yes Kate?"

"John," she breathed, relieved, "I uh... why are you following me?" She asked uncomfortably, remembering her more immediate question.

"Well," he said haltingly, "sun's coming up, beginning of the boar hunt," he said, pausing again to scratch his chin.

"I'm a boar?" Kate asked, smiling jokingly.

Locke smiled in return before turning his eyes to her again, adressing her more seriously now, "Kate, Jack asked me to keep an eye on you, said something was wrong with you yesterday night?"

Kate's temper flared in an instant, but she restrained herself, chewing her lip, to keep from yelling, "I'm fine," she said, repeating the age old answer.

"I'm sure he had a reason," Locke said loudly, "I mean, we all have a reason," his eyes twinkled like the fading stars.

"I... I gotta head to the beach," she said, turning away, "tell Jack I don't need him to send someone following me."

"He's just worried about you, Kate, that's all," Locke said disarmingly, "what's your reason?" he added with interest.

"Reason?" Kate asked, arching a brow, her back still turned to him.

There was a pause, as though Locke was wondering which reason he wanted most, "Why are you out on a lonely path in the middle of the jungle, at night?" he asked, almost laughing at the irony of the question.

"Just looking," she answered quietly, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder and beginning to walk away.

"Me too, Kate," the unwavering voice called after her.

Kate was always unsettled by the man's presence. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as she stepped out of his sight, and around a corner in the meandering path. He probably knew she was looking for Sawyer, she was awfully transparent, she realized, disgruntled. Her flirting seemed, to her, quite blatantly obvious. Her thoughts turned again. Jack, why had he sent someone to follow her? Why did he care so much? Couldn't he just let her alone? There was nothing she could do to make him understand she didn't need his constant, overshadowing protection. She could always confront him, but she realized with dismay that she would probably be laughed at. Her musings led her eventually back to John Locke, and her conversation with him just several weeks prior. All the things he'd said rushed to her brain in a sudden flow of heat and, though she did not like to admit it, fear.

"_Heard you talking to your friend," Locke said, wiping his eyes with his arm as he proceeded in the process of curing a boar hide with sand and aloe. Kate had been trying to thoroughly forget about yesterday's unsettling events, but her moping behavior as she paced the beach had caught the man's attention._

"_Sounded upset," Locke continued, picking the aloe up again._

_Kate cast him a sickly glance, not feeling like looking to him, much less talking. She slowly started to walk down the beach again, ignoring his statements, allowing her skin to drink in the warmth of the sand on her feet._

"_You took real good care of him," he said, one eye closed against the sun, looking after Kate, "he doesn't know how to appreciate the people around him. It's a serious weakness."_

_Kate laughed a little, looking over her shoulder at the man kneeling before the stretched skin, "Yeah," she began to walk back towards him, "he's got no idea what people do for him."_

_Continuing to work at the skin, Locke spoke again, "And, especially you, you nursed him..." he trailed off, looking up at her with one eye again, she was now casting a shadow over the hide, "you're in my light."_

"_Oh," Kate murmured, stepping out of the way and sitting on the sand beside him, "sorry," she added, looking at him cautiously._

"_I had a woman who loved me very much once," Locke said, monotone, as he continued to work at the skin, "I..." his voice wavered for an instant, "I loved her... but... I... I didn't appreciate her much, lost her."_

_Kate was taken aback at Locke's assumptions. Was he insinuating they were in love? She stammered, "I care about him, he's a friend, that's al--"_

_Locke interrupted loudly, but in the calm, composed voice he nearly always spoke in, "Do you love him, Kate?" He asked plainly, staring her down again, now with both eyes wide, eyebrows arching, deep wrinkles in his forehead pronounced._

_Stuttering again, Kate regained her footing, "N-no," she said squeamishly, "how could anyone... love him?" It wasn't until after the words had left her mouth that Kate realized the tenderness with which she had spoken them. Looking quickly away to the bright blue sky, Kate hoped Locke had not caught the slip in her mannerisms. Much to her displeasure, she looked over to find him continuing to look her up and down, his mouth curved into an ambiguous little smile. She feared he would say something, anything, but instead he just continued smiling and dumping sand onto the leathery skin._

_Wordlessly, Kate stood and resumed her walk down the beach, quite disgruntled at Locke's uncanny knowledge of those around him. _

Kate was forced to wonder whether it was Sawyer who did not appreciate her, or if it was she who did not appreciate Sawyer. But then again, what had he done for her? She thought of several cliched statements about how he'd "lit up her life", but finally felt sick with herself, giving up as the beach hove into view. It was a welcome change from the dark path, its sprawling white expanses looked pristine in this earliest hour of dawn.

She suddenly felt dizzy. She had spent the whole way walking here remembering why she hated Sawyer, convincing herself she did not need him. Convincing herself that the finalizing harsh words they had spoken to each other were the end of things. Yet here she was, walking to his little blue-tarp covered tent, no more than a lost animal. She tried to stop her legs moving, but could not contain the urge just to look at him. To hear his voice, anything.

She knew once she got there, if he sat awake, they would exchange bitterly sarcastic words. She would leave with a sense of dry satisfaction having had gained points on him, but feeling even emptier knowing that the void between them had grown greater. She had been so used, in the past months, to him, his voice, his touch, and now those were unobtainable luxuries. Remnants of a memory long gone.

When she at last reached the outside of his tent, she could hear heavy breathing from within. With a sudden jolt, she realized that he was still sleeping, and that she could maybe, just maybe, sit in his presence for a few moments, before she carried on her way. Pushing back the rough, plastic tent's flap, she crept inside, kneeling in the corner, looking over him. _This is pointless,_ Kate thought, disappointed with herself. An idea began to materialize in her mind, _I know._

"I'm sorry," she whispered through the sickly silence of the tent's inside. The words barely passed her lips. She wanted to speak louder, but found herself strangling on the words as she thought of the last month again, how it had all ended. There he lay, on his side, eyes closed, long blonde hair brushed gracefully over his eyes, his chest slowly expanding and contracting as he breathed deeply of the clean morning air. His denim-clad legs stretched out along the length of the airplane seat on which he slept.

Reaching a quivering hand out to him, Kate leaned over his face, pushing his hair behind his ear, "I'm sorry," she whispered again, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. I don't hate you, Sawyer. I should have said goodbye. I should have come to help..." The words came more easily now, the constricted feeling in her throat was lifted. She didn't know how to apologize for everything she had done wrong in one breath, so instead she closed her eyes, grimacing.

The early light of the sun spilled under the sides of the tent, illuminating her face as a lock of hair fell from behind her shoulders, brushing his face. He twitched in his sleep, and for a moment, she thought she had seen a ghost of a smile cross his face. Quickly, she tucked the hair behind her ear. "What can I do to fix this?" She asked into the air, knowing her queries were falling upon deaf ears, "When will we go back to normal?"

Suddenly his cold blue eyes were open, his brows beetling above them, he reached out and snatched her wrist, "Normal, sweetheart? Why, I thought you'd actually try to say sorry while I was awake. Silly me."


	3. Chapter 3

Sawyer's eyes were hardened with a mixture of anger and surprise at seeing Kate in his dwelling. How had she gathered the gall to come into his tent? She was still leaning over him, her small wrist clenched tightly, angrily, in his large, rough fist, "So, Freckles," he began, glaring poisonously at her.

"I was just..." Kate stammered, locking eyes with him as she returned his venomous stare, "I was just coming to tell you that..." she paused, searching her mind for something she could say. Any excuse. But it had to be a good one, she thought fervently, something that would hurt him. Something that would make his insides burn, just like hers did when he outwardly insulted her for his own sport. She caught her breath as she finally found something, "I was just coming to tell you that Jack and I are... serious," she took a deep breath and apprehensively watched his face.

His grip on her wrist loosened, and his eyes blazed, but he relaxed his brows and managed a faux-careless laugh, "yeah, I knew you and the doctor were good friends," he said, sitting up on the seat, "but you wanna tell me why you came in here whisperin', 'I'm sorry'?" He asked, mocking her voice in a childish effort to get back at her for the Jack comment, "wouldn't be 'cause you're feelin' guilty now, would it?"

Kate gnawed her lip and looked down, "I wasn't saying sorry," she lied flatly, looking up at him again, holding his stare, "you must have been dreaming. I was just coming in to tell you that I don't need your flirting anymore," she said boldly, knowing with each word she was further damning herself, "I have someone who cares about me now," she whispered, basking in the small shaking of his jaw at this last injury. Suddenly, though, Sawyer's face melted into a smile, "Yeah, Freckles, me too," he leered, "but you wouldn't know about that."

Kate narrowed her eyes aggressively, determined to show him she didn't care. She wouldn't care. "I'm going to go find Jack," she said tossing her head, rising from her position beside him, brushing sand delicately off her jeans, "we have things to do," she said gleefully enjoying the pain she knew she must be inflicting. He hid it, though, hid it well, and stood, too, towering over her.

"Prove it," he said, aggressively thrusting his chin out at her, seeming to think he had trumped her attack.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, eyes bright with innocence, "prove what?"

"Prove that you and the doctor are rea--"

"Oh, okay!" Kate answered cheerfully, grinning, "not a problem at all!"

Sawyer glared, he hadn't expected that in the least, she really would go to any extent to anger him, wouldn't she? He wondered why she was doing that. There was some thrill in their little games, but it grew tiring, he thought, with resignation as she turned on her heel to leave the tent. He watched her go, hands helpless at his sides, but suddenly another idea popped into his head. In a flash, he had reached out and grabbed her arm again.

Kate gasped, "Let go! What are you _doing_?" She exclaimed incredulously, eyes flashing with anger.

"You can't prove anything," he smirked, clutching her arm still.

She couldn't resist another stab, "You have no idea," she whispered, "what I can and can't do."

"Yeah, I know you, Kate, I know how you are," he replied, smiling at his own repeated taunts, "I know you wouldn't hurt your _pride_."

Kate laughed, as she always did when she felt most vulnerable, "Don't talk to me about pride, Sawyer, you don't know me, not at all," the words spilled from her mouth like fevered breaths, only halfway through her thought train did she realize that she, every moment, was destroying any chance of fixing what she had broken. Narrowing her eyes again, trying to hide the near welling of tears in them, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and lifted the flap of the tent resolutely.

"One more thing, sweetheart," he said, flashing her a mocking grin as she left the tent, "You're a horrible liar."

Without turning back for a final look at him, she hurried away. Outside, the sun had fully risen above the horizon, and the salt-tainted air on the beach was beginning to warm. Kate was relieved to be away from Sawyer, though not particularly thrilled about how angry he must have gotten by now. She began to walk forward, scanning the beach for Jack. She could feel Sawyer's eyes on her, and was looking desperately for a way to get them off her. With another rush of relief and defiance, she spotted the doctor, heading to check on this or that, walking with his leisurely stride.

With one quick glance over her shoulder, she could see Sawyer staring her down, leaning against his tent, just as he had leaned against the bedpost in the hatch weeks ago, his stance envious and hateful. _Perfect._ She dashed nimbly after Jack, catching up with him just before he could pass behind a tree. They were still in Sawyer's line of view, she could still feel his eyes.

"Hey Jack," she grinned breathlessly at him.

"Hey Kate," he said, blinking slowly at her, "you alright?"

"Yeah, great," she said, eyes beaming at him in an overacted show of affection. Bumping her shoulder into his, she grasped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and squeezing his hand affectionately. She realized with a pang that she didn't have a problem with this.

"Wh-" Jack laughed, "Kate, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said, laying her head on his shoulder, not caring for his bewildered expression.

He blinked slowly at her again, "are you sure you're alright?" he asked again, lifting a hand to her forehead.

"Yep, perfect," she answered, glowing.

Abruptly, she unlatched their fingers, "Hey, I gotta go," she said brightly, "catch you later, okay?" In an instant, she found herself dashing away from him, not exactly back towards Sawyer, but in the general direction. She giggled to herself. Won that round. She was amazed at how she was suppressing her unhappiest thoughts, her most sadistic needs satisfied in her torturing of the man who was now glaring at her with angry eyes. _Jealous, wasn't he?_

"Bye Kate," Jack could be heard, calling after her, his voice caught and broken on the wind. Kate plopped blissfully down on the sand several yards away from Sawyer's tent, laughing to herself. She didn't dare look over her shoulder to meet his eyes, she didn't want to see them. Mindlessly, she revelled in her new victory, wondering, preoccupied, what he must be thinking right now.

Still leaning against one of the posts supporting the tent, arms crossed, Sawyer was, indeed, scowling. He knew she wouldn't turn around and see him. He wasn't scowling at her, he was scowling at himself. Why'd he gone and scared her off like that? Now she would hate him for sure. He knew she was kidding about the doctor, probably to piss him off, but now he'd never make it up to her. They'd messed up a lot, the things they'd done and said, and he just kept diggin' his grave deeper, and now he'd thrown himself in. He couldn't fix anything right.

Feeling like a tremendous failure, he ran a hand frustratedly through his hair. He was tired of the competition. The one person he cared about couldn't stand to be around him.

"Fucked that one up," he muttered to himself. He wanted to sit beside her, he wanted to hold her, to say sorry. He wanted to kiss her, to return the love she had given him so selflessly. She despised him, he realized, hurt by his own rudeness around her. He couldn't ever hold her again. He was never going to get past this. Yet all the while, he continued to scowl. Struggling to accept what he was thinking, he realized how difficult it was to do so for himself, much less _her_. Nobody thought of him as a lover-boy. He wasn't gonna up and make them think he'd gone all... _soft_.

He gazed at her, longingly, but still scowling, now just in case she turned and saw him. He couldn't help himself, he had to get back at her for Jack, "Hey darlin'" he called out, "you can't act, either."

"Had you fooled, didn't I?" she called back, unmoving.

_Ouch_. She sounded cold, steely, angry. Sighing, he ignored her and ducked back into his tent.

Kate giggled, he couldn't even think of anything to say. She peeked over her shoulder to find that he was gone. But where? Most likely back into his tent, she decided, feigning indifference. She strode past his tent, without giving it so much as a second glance. Back in the hatch, she thought, that first week after he'd recovered, after their initial spat, she wouldn't have been able to maintain such an uncaring facade.

"_Hey... I'm sorry I... I stormed out like that yesterday," Kate said, nervously clacking her teeth as she reentered the bunk bed-area of the Hatch._

_Sawyer was sitting up in his bed, shirtless, she noted. His eyes were bloodshot, he looked weary, which was probably for the better, he was generally more agreeable if he was tired or in pain. "Mmmmh," he acknowledged, reaching a well-muscled arm backward to massage his shoulder._

_A maternal instinct washed over Kate, "here," she said gently, walking over to the bed and slinking behind him on the pillows, "I'll do it."_

_Gratefully, he dropped his arm and closed his eyes as her slender, pale hand kneaded his tense shoulder muscles. He groaned feebly, "that's nice," he said, sounding as if he was ready to pass out._

"_You okay?" Kate asked, worriedly peeking over his shoulder at his face, he did look a little pale._

"_Yeah... I'm okay," he answered gruffly, eyes rolling back as she continued to stroke his back and massage his shoulders, "guess this is why the doctor wants me to stay down here," he said faintly, swaying slightly._

"_Sawyer...?" Kate said, pausing cautiously, "need to lay down?"_

"_I'm... oka--" His voice cut out, a bit dramatically, Kate had to notice, as he fell back, head falling against her, and landing eventually in her lap._

"_Sawyer?" She asked, touching his forehead tentatively with her fingertips. He felt fine. Weird. She put her palm and then the back of her hand flat on his forehead, still fine. "Sawyer?" She repeated his name, panicking now, "I'll get Jack."_

"_No," he said, quite clearly, fully awake, yet with his eyes still closed._

_Kate paused, "do you need something? There's medicine in the--"_

"_A kiss," Sawyer said simply, opening his eyes just a bit._

_Kate could see an obvious sparkle of mischief in them. She sighed in exasperation. Again? He was fine, he had faked all of this, the tiredness, the back ache, and she had bought into it, "I can't believe you," she said, but not in disgust this time, with laughter in her eyes and teasing at the corners of her mouth. Craning her neck, she planted a soft, chaste kiss on his forehead. His eyes followed her as she withdrew, "there."_

"_Naw, Freckles," he said, feeling cheated, "you did that all wrong." Rolling her over from under his head, next to him, he flicked her long, dark hair out of her face, sliding a hand behind her graceful neck. Drawing her face to his, he drank of her exhaled breaths, looking into her clear green eyes. Before he could call the shots of the situation any further, she had moved to him and pressed her lips to his. Caressing the roof of his mouth with her tongue, she put her arms around him, drinking in the scent of his cologne. She almost giggled at the memory of his saying he wore none._

_Breaking away from him, she looked down, embarrassed, "I'm sorry," she murmured._

"_You think I minded, Freckles?" He asked in the hallmark southern drawl._

_She grinned, unwinding her arm from around his waist to stroke his hair._

Muttering darkly, Sawyer trudged over the thick, thorny, vine-matted grounds of the jungle. Why had she gone off the path, anyway? And why the hell was he followin' her? Wasn't gonna gain anything from it. Maybe his 'sensitive side' still wanted to say sorry. He almost laughed at himself, _ don't kid yourself _, he thought, _you don't have a sensitive side._ Missing a step, he tripped over a root, sending his lanky body sailing downward, crashing to the ground with a thud.

A triumphant chuckle came from several yards ahead of him, "Smooth, Sawyer, smooth."

Cursing under his breath, Sawyer raised himself, gathering his bearings, and plucking burs from himself, "very funny. Ha ha." He said sarcastically, surprised Kate had known he was following her.

"So, stalking me now?" She asked, laughter tickling her throat.

"Stalkin' you? Sweetheart I'm just tryin' to find some fruit. Man's gotta eat," he answered.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you do," she chuckled, walking onward, leaving him alone to tear the burs from his shirt.

"So what brings _you_ to this neck of the jungle?" He called after her, wondering why she _had_ come this far off the path.

"Just testing a theory," she said dryly.

"Which is?" He asked, sounding bored, though he knew she could see right through him.

"Seeing who'll follow me," she said, calmly and blankly again, continuing to walk.

"Oh... _the doctor_." He said, stung, "Thought so."

There it was, right in front of her, a way to begin the healing. To fix this, to fix what she'd done. Just a few words, and Kate could have him again. No more angry games, just the way they had been. She rolled her eyes... the way they had been? Which meant what? Sarcastic games as opposed to angry games? What the hell, she thought, deciding to take a chance, "Who says I want Jack following me?"


	4. Chapter 4

_The kickback was unbearable, she had fired a gun before, but not under these circumstances. The air all around smelled of gunpowder. Can you say stupid? Yeah, that was possibly one of the dumbest things she'd ever done. Shooting at a US Marshall. Not the best idea. At least she'd missed. Naturally, there would have been hell to pay had her aim been good that morning. She stood there, stunned in the still air, staring at the man who still stood pointing his service revolver at her, a small, sly smirk crept over his face, "Gotcha. Bang bang."_

Kate looked down, her hands were covered in gunpowder residue, the right sleeve of her green lace-up blouse scarred with the pungent black mark. She looked around, there had to be a way out. There was always a way out, it was just a matter of finding it, she reasoned with herself. Her ears were still ringing from the gunfire, it seemed she had silenced the whole city. No cars drove down the street. Yet in the background she could barely make out the faint noises of sirens.

"_Drop the gun, Kate," the man said squarely, his tie flapping up into his face clumsily as a slight breeze kicked up._

_Crouching, Kate set the black handgun softly on the ground, raising her hands into the air in surrender. Looking down, she racked her brain for an idea. Was he actually going to shoot at her, anyway? If she could just get out into the plaza, it wasn't that far away... The marshall began striding towards her in a self assured manner. Now or never, do or die. Kate bolted, her slender legs carrying her away from his cries of protest and, 'I'll shoot'. Out into the plaza, where she was greeted by the frightened stares of bystanders as she ran with the devil at her heels. Her boots thudded on the basket-woven plaza brickwork, in pattern with her frantic heart._

"Kate," Sawyer half screamed, "slow down!"

For a split second, Kate chanced a glance at her legs, working away to carry her far, far away. Just seconds ago she had been speaking to Sawyer, but had failed to catch his last response, she had been overcome with an unbearable urge to run. Away. Far away. Not forever, just now. Not very safe to run into the jungle, she knew, but this was hardly uncharted territory, Locke wandered it all the time, she reassured herself. With the wind in her face, whipping her hair out behind her, Kate looked up, shifting her weight to avoid crashing into a tree.

"Kaaaate," came Sawyer's yell again, this time closer by.

Avoiding her name, Kate continued to run. Too late to stop now. Trees and dirt and noonday sky flew past her in a blur. All she could hear was the thudding of her own feet, the shallow beating of her heart in her chest, and her ragged, gasping breaths. She was tired, she had to stop running. But she couldn't. She had always wanted to run away as a little girl. To get away from the people who shunned her, those who did not love her. How was this any different?

Dodging trees and running just as fast as he could, Sawyer found it very hard to keep up with her pace. Once he had been but a few feet behind her, but he could not catch her. She was an unreachable goddess, a butterfly, and he needed to catch up to her, to find out what was wrong. Whether she hated him or not, he was worried, and he cared. He could admit it now, it wasn't that hard. Determined, he sprinted on, delighted when he could see her figure amongst the trees again. He had long given up on calling out to her, she wasn't listening, she wasn't going to.

_The plaza bricks were hard, even through thick rubber soles. She didn't want to stop. But her efforts to gain breath were becoming desperate. There was no way she would get away from him if she stopped running now. Her feet continued to carry her further, not losing or gaining speed, just beating down repeatedly on the plaza bricks. If she could get out of the city square, she thought, just out of here, everything would be okay, she would get away. It became such a struggle to breathe that she began to dully think things over in her tiring mind, just to keep it off the next agonizing breath. Everything would be okay if she could just make it past the edge of the plaza. Her sins, gone. Her loneliness, gone. Her fears, banished. It would all disappear if she could just make it there. Just a little further._

This wasn't like the plaza at all, she had no idea where she was going. She couldn't breathe well, but she couldn't stop, either. This time everything would be fixed, she just had to get... somewhere. But where? Kate ran on, oblivious to Sawyer's pleas for her to slow down, to come back to him. Life without her insecurities, life without her sins, it would be beautiful, she just had to get to the destination. It was here, somewhere.

There it was, the end of the plaza. The border was marked clearly by a different pattern of bricks, these bright red. Everything would be okay when she crossed that red line. She would make it out okay. Crossing the line, she felt an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. She gathered the strength to charge down an industrial back alley, where, finally, she found a wall, and slid to the ground, breathing more heavily than ever before in her life. Her sides ached. She looked around, where was the marshall? An awful feeling of betrayal invaded her body, she was still afraid. She still felt guilty for her sins, guilty, in every waking second of every day. How silly of her, she realized, it had been, to think that crossing some line of bricks would right her wrongs. Her chest heaving up and down, she felt hot tears spilling from her eyes. It was never going to stop.

_Where am I going?_ Kate wondered, frightened that she seemed to have lost herself in the green whir of the jungle. She had even lost Sawyer. Fearfully, she stopped running, the change in momentum causing her to tumble over herself and fall, hitting her head against something... hard. Opening her eyes, the world was a swirling mess. No one was there to lift her from her fall, and her head was throbbing wretchedly, the last thing she heard before passing into a deep slumber was a panicked cry of her name. The last thought that found its way into her mind was that she did not want to forget what Sawyer sounded like.

Dazedly, Kate blinked away the bright light pouring into her left eye. _What the hell?_ She tried to sit up, but winced as her head was crushed with the movement. Closing her eyes, she lay back down, reaching a hand up to feel her head. A rough cloth-like material greeted her touch. _Why am I bandaged?_ Her ears were ringing excruciatingly. Much to her discontent, when her vision was fully restored from its blurred state, the first thing she saw was Jack, leaning over her with a cold cloth. Blinking again, more heavily now, she looked uncomfortably around. She was on the same bed where Sawyer had been treated, down in the hatch. Puzzled for a moment, memories came rushing back to her like light pouring into a dark room. She had been... running... why? There was something she needed to get to. She remembered recalling the plaza, for some reason. Why the plaza?

An enormous surge of diappointment filled Kate suddenly, she hadn't even found what she was looking for. She felt angry, and felt the familiar hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She hadn't even found it. How was she supposed to fix her problems if she couldn't even get to the place where that could happen? A small voice in the back of her mind suggested that it was all a childish fantasy. She shunned it tearfully, it didn't make sense. She had run, she had gone so far and so fast, and nothing to show for it.

"You hit your head," Jack said tenderly, dabbing the cloth on her forehead.

"Am I... okay?" Kate asked tensely, looking around the room.

"Yeah... just a gash, you'll be alright in a day or two," Jack almost cooed, surveying her face.

"Oh," she breathed, eyes still searching the room.

A question appeared on Jack's face, "What are you looking for, Kate?" He looked uneasy. He knew what. The ornamental question irritated her, he could see.

Panic filled Kate's heart again, as it had when she realized she had not found what she was looking for in her running, "Where is he?"

"Sawyer?" Jack asked, numbly.

"Yeah, where is he?" Kate answered, trying to sit up again, eyes widening in spite of herself.

"He's around here somewhere. He carried you back after you passed out," Jack said, indifferently, giving her a gentle nudge, indicating she should lie back down.

"I want to see him," Kate demanded firmly, still struggling to sit up.

Jack looked tired, upset, perhaps, she fancied, even jealous, "I'll go find him," he murmured obediently, nonetheless, "just as soon as you lay back down."

Kate sat quietly back on the bed, waiting. Several minutes later, Sawyer approached the bunkbed, his expression impassive. _Was he angry?_

"You okay?" He asked gruffly, keeping his face turned away from hers.

"Yeah," Kate breathed again, "I'm... sorry."

Sawyer slumped onto the corner of the bed, "Why were you running from me?"

"I wasn't," Kate began, upset that he had thought of it this way, "I... I was looking..." The answer sounded like a poor excuse even to her. She winced, looking carefully up at him.

"For?" He asked, not amused.

"Help," Kate said flatly, "I just needed help."

Sawyer sighed, a long, deep sigh, "I tried to catch up with you."

"I know," Kate answered sadly, looking away.

"You run fast," Sawyer added frankly, "I couldn't."

"I know," Kate said again, looking down the length of the bed at him again.

"You're crying," Sawyer noticed, a flicker of worry crossing his features.

"I am?" Kate sniffed with a little laugh, "Sorry."

Sawyer leaned over and wrapped his arms about her, holding her closely, arching his neck over her shoulder. _Is this a good time?_ It felt awkward, but maybe it would work. Kate buried her head in his shoulder, blinking away tears and lost thoughts. _Guess so._ _Maybe he doesn't hate me._ _Maybe she doesn't hate me, _ Sawyer wondered as he comforted her.

_Kate was reminded, painfully, on her third day revisiting Sawyer in the hatch, the terror she had felt when she had seen him being carried, on the back of another to the hatch. The man she had loved, slumped over the shoulders of someone else, in a most vulnerable state. There had gone her hero. Upon speaking with him, on that third day, she had regained her belief in him, in that he, too, was just a human being. Not flawless._

"_You can't run forever," he said roughly._

"_I know..." Kate murmured in acknowledgement, voice singing with regret._

"_I tried to," he whispered uncomfortably._

"_I'm no saint."_

_Kate looked at him with drooping eyes, "Who is?"_

_He chuckled dryly, "I'm still out for blood," he added, his voice becoming stronger, darker._

"_I gave up on that a long time ago," Kate whispered gently._

"_I can't. Can't let go," He looked pitiful, lying there, still sick, not only physically but mentally, too._

Kate had held him in her arms then, too, in retrospect, this was probably the most he had ever confided in someone else about himself, people were not to be trusted in this world. He was still her idol, then, at least, and today had reassured that belief. Maybe he didn't hate her. She knew, after that, that he was human. He had feelings, a heart. Thoughts of his own, a soul. Weaknesses. He wasn't an unobtainable god, a man who was immune to all earthly doings. She had known this, on a more superficial level, since she had read the letter. But for him to admit a weakness, she knew, was a great step for him.

Now as he held her, she felt a little spark of hope in her heart, they could mend the wounds. "We can fix this," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

His silence seemed to be one of agreement, he paused, holding her tight, choking almost on his words. Could he actually say it? "Kate... I..."


	5. Chapter 5

"I have to go," he said, tripping over his words without the slightest hint of grace or eloquence.

Kate's eyes danced, "Where?" She pried, almost certain of what he'd meant to say. But not entirely certain, as he ignored her, scowling a little. _Maybe he doesn't love me,_ she thought, yearning to tell him to stay with her. _That'll probably piss him off._ Kate watched with sorrow as he turned away from her and stood, not glancing at her again as he left. The moment was already ruined, she couldn't resist, "have fun, then."

Sauntering away, Sawyer's expression melted from the false scowl into one of worry, _why did she reject me like that? Was I being an asshole?_ "We'll fix this my ass," he mumbled to himself. She hated him.

Kate followed him with her eyes, not daring to move for fear of hurting her head, tracing his outline until his well sculpted figure vanished completely from view. How could he just walk away? What was wrong with him? Sulkily, Kate turned over onto her side, surveying the bland Venetian blinds that covered the circular, artificially lit window. An alarm started beeping, echoing about the hatch, pulsing inside her head, and then, the sounds of computer keys tacking away, and a shuffling noise. The godawful beeping stopped.

Kate massaged her forehead gingerly, she wanted to go outside and just sit and think. It was hot in the hatch, and the air was thick with an indescribable smell of dust and age. _You'd think it'd be cleaned up by now._ She couldn't bear it, she hadn't moved her legs since she'd stumbled while running, she had to get up, had to walk somewhere. Carefully, she pushed her body up from the mattress with her arms, cringing as she experienced an awful head rush. Her head was throbbing again. She felt as if someone was beating her skull with a hammer.

_I need air,_ she thought desperately, pulling herself from the bed, and stumbling dizzily once on her feet. Grabbing the sidepost of the bed, she regained her composure, straightening up, but feeling nauseous all the same. Slowly, she took a tentative step to the airlock that led out of the hatch. One foot in front of the other, she finally reached it, weakly turning the circular handles until she had opened both doors and stumbled into the leafy green world outside.

She looked around, catching herself from another potential fall, no one was there. Quietly, she crept away from the outside of the hatch, following her feet on what she thought seemed like a remotely familiar path. She didn't come this way often. _All the better_, she realized, because that probably meant no one else would be coming this way. No one to scold her and tell her to go lay down, and state the obvious about her being hurt. Shuffling through the dead leaves on the soft dirt floor of the jungle, she caught herself from treetrunk to treetrunk, using them as a way to keep from collapsing from dizziness.

_Fresh air'll do me good._ A strange feeling consumed Kate as she continued to make her way, alone, through the jungle. She _wanted_ Sawyer to be following her this time. It was evening, it would probably be dark before she could head back to the hatch. Maybe she would just sleep there when she got there, she thought. She would have some time to think, at least.

The rather indistinct sound of splashing water found her ears, her eyes lit up amidst her aimless stumbling. Just a little further. Still skittering about incoherently, she found her way through a thick gathering of trees, swinging past them into a vast clearing. It wasn't the same as the first time she'd seen it. Then the water had been green (with bodies in it, she recalled with disdain, but also something far more important), and had at least twinkled happily. Now it looked cold, there were leaves falling all around the pool, giving the area a look of general illness. The waterfall, cascading over the jutting rockface, was not warm and full of life. It looked steely, and gray, and made a slapping sound, instead of a giggling bubble, as it hit the surface of the water below.

She wondered in dismay if this was for any reason other than the change in season. Well, certainly, she had been here last with a companion. To swim. And now she was here to sit on a rock and think to herself. Of course her perception of her surroundings would change. Still feeling nauseous, she secured the bandage on her forehead and began hiking up the dryest side of the rockface. She experienced several moments of intense vertigo, due to her dizzyness and the change in movement, but quickly readjusted. Pulling herself finally onto an (almost) flat rock, she stretched out on it, leaning back on her arms. It was hard, and quite cold, shadowed by an overhanging tree branch.

She looked across the pond, surveying the scape of evanescent beauty, straining her eyes more and more as the sun began its descent from its zenith. She was disappointed, this place had changed, just as she had. There should have been at least one constant around here, something she could lean on.

_Sliding back the door to the hatch's showering room, she almost jumped out of her skin. He was standing there, just outside, scanning her towel-wrapped figure. "Wh-... uh... Sawyer... what are you doing here?" Kate asked nervously._

"_Oh nothin', sweetcheeks," he said playfully, "waitin' to use to the shower."_

"_You're sick," she said sternly, "you should be laying down." She made a move to guide him back to the bedroom._

"_Oh I feel fine," he said heartily, grinning broadly and resisting her prompt._

"_Really?" She asked, with mock-concern, quirking a brow._

"_Yeah, great," he said, continuing to grin, "you?_

_She sighed, exasperated, but unable to suppress a smile, he didn't ask such petty questions, that just wasn't the way Sawyer was, he wanted something, "What?" She asked, almost laughing at him._

_In an instant, he was kissing her again, pressing his rough lips to hers, drawing her in, closer to him. **Oh,** Kate realized suddenly why he was standing there. As they pulled apart, she breathed deeply of the air around him. As she leaned forward on her toes to kiss him again, he placed a hand on her lips, "Uh uh, Freckles," he chided, "wouldn't wanna spoil ya'." He lowered his own hand and continued his deed, moving his kisses to her neck, fiercely kissing along its graceful curves. She couldn't help feeling slightly irritated with him, one day he couldn't keep his hands off her, and on another, he would entirely ignore her presence. Suddenly the ground beneath her feet disappeared as he scooped her up in his arms._

"_Sawyer?" She asked laughingly, "What are you--"_

_Suddenly they were back in the room where the bunkbeds could be found, she found herself hoping desperately that no one else was down in the Hatch, but realized with a pang that it was likely that Locke or worse, Jack, would be down there -- her thoughts were cut short as she found herself standing bare in the still, warm air. Sawyer had discarded her towel, and was sloppily trying to remove his belt and jeans with fumbling hands. She bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud at him, wondering briefly whether she should attempt to cover herself or not._

_------_

_He breathed heavily, shaking a sweat-sodden strand of hair from his face as he rolled away from her onto his back. His bare chest moved up and down in unison with hers, as they needily fought to catch up for lost air. Kate realized, almost laughing, that she had hardly breathed._

Kate's memories of that day weren't passionate ones. Quite to the contrary, she thought, sitting on the flat rock above the pond as the sun continued its descent, after the fact, she had felt horribly empty, alone. And most of all, inexplicably, guilty. She hadn't felt loved then, still didn't. Kate lay down on the rock, curling into a fetal position in the ever darkening stillness of the area. She wanted someone to come out here and find her. She felt someone should have.

She thought, with a small spark of envy for whoever was in his presence now, that Sawyer should have come out to find her. She had fooled herself, it seemed, into thinking he cared enough to do that. _Just another apathetic man._ There were a lot of those in her life. Curling up, Kate murmured to herself, "you are not going to cry." There had been enough self pity for one day, she thought, agonizingly squeezing her eyelids together and turning her face up to the heavens, "I am not that weak."

_Damn I need a cigarette._ Sawyer moodily kicked sand up into the fire he'd lit on the beach several minutes ago. If he hadn't smoked them all the first two weeks on the island, this wouldn't be a problem. He sunk down beside the fire. _She's probably pissed at me,_ he thought dismally, trying to figure out how Kate had reacted to his abrupt, uncalled-for leaving of her. She was right, they could have fixed their relationship, right then and there, but as usual, he had gone and fcked it up.

He glared into the fire. He could still go back to the hatch, and tell her sorry. Again he was faced with the all too common problem of appearing _soft._ He could always come up with an excuse, he mused, searching his mind for ideas. "Just checkin' on her", nope, wouldn't work. "Lookin' for Jack", no, that one wasn't gonna cut it. "Ah," he exclaimed freshly, murmuring to himself, "Lookin' for smokes." He stood from his crouching position. It was believable, he thought, setting off in the dusk, it wasn't even a complete lie, he realized, a new bounce in his step.

At the hatch's main entrance, he felt perfectly confident with what to say to her. He was going to be a man, for once, he resolved, determined. Inside, he stepped into the living area of the hatch, the words he meant to say dancing lightly on his lips. His heart thudded loudly inside his chest when he looked to the beds and could find Kate nowhere. The couch, empty. The chair in front of the computer, empty. Cautiously, he made his way to the shower room, gently rapping on the door. No answer. Softly, he pulled it back to find... nothing. Heart beating frenziedly now, Sawyer headed back to the living area, calling in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Kate?"

He cleared his throat, taking on a gruffer shade of his own voice, trying to hide any shred of worry, "Kate?"

Jack appeared in the doorway from the main entrance hall, "Sawyer?" Jack looked around the room, his expression one of utter puzzlement, "Hey... where's Kate?"

Sawyer's anger boiled over in a flash, he approached Jack, gaining a natural high from his own fevered blood, "I dunno doctor, you were supposed to be watchin' her." he growled.

Jack's eyes narrowed menacingly, "I told her to stay there, I was only gone for an hour, Locke was supposed to --"

The sharp sound of bone colliding with soft cheek-flesh echoed through the empty room, winding his arm up for another blow, Sawyer grated, "Why didn't you watch her? It was your responsibiltiy." Sensations of protectiveness filled him, he was amazed at himself, not only for again proceeding to beat the living hell out of the leading authority figure, but because he was not doing this for his personal gain.

Jack drew back before Sawyer could hit him again, getting a blow in on his chest, he dodged backward, "I don't know where she is," he said gravely, raising both eyebrows, panting for breath.

Furious, Sawyer reached out for the doctor's shirt, grabbing it by the collar. Jack jerked away, winding his own arm back this time. Sawyer lunged forward instantly and grabbed it. The pair stood, locked in a show of equal force. Not only had the doctor ruined his plan, he had lost track of _Kate._ That was a blasphemy in itself. Relaxing his grip on Jack's arm, he gritted his teeth, brows meeting over irate eyes, "Well, looks like you found yourself a new walkin' partner, doc, 'cause we're gonna go find her."


	6. Chapter 6

"Wh-uh... Jack?" Locke's normally self-assured voice, sounding fearful, broke the tense, staring silence in which Sawyer and Jack were entwined.

"It's okay John," Jack breathed choppily, wiping his brow on his arm with a deft motion of his well-muscled neck, "Just working out a few kinks."

"Yeah, kinks," Sawyer tossed the words out carelessly, "he lost Kate."

Locke narrowed his eyes and rested his chin on a hand, "why aren't you looking for her? She could be in danger."

"That's 'zactly what I said," Sawyer snorted, throwing his head back and finally throwing down Jack's poised arm, "arguin' ain't gonna find her faster," he paused, casting his gaze back to Jack, "let's go, doc."

Locke made a move to follow them, "I can help you track her down," he said firmly, "I'll come with--"

"John, the button," Jack reminded him, grimly nodding to the computer.

"How the hell're we supposed to find her out here?" Sawyer asked loudly once they had left the hatch, _there it is,_ he thought darkly, _goin' soft again._ Carefully, he made sure to add, "don't matter, she'll come back anyway."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked airily, "thought you loved her," he said, smugly recalling Sawyer's deathbed mumblings.

"Never said that," Sawyer answered haughtily, trying to maintain his persona, "never."

"Right," Jack said, almost jealously, "anyway, we can track her." He added confidently, taking a few steps forward.

"And I suppose you know just how to do that, doncha?"

"I do," Jack said, nodding seriously.

_The garbage can in the alleyway smelled like nothing Kate had ever smelled before. There were the scents of burnt compost materials, producing the dreadful odor of melting plastic and rubber, mixed, primarily, with what was likely to be food leftovers from the surrounding company outlets. She leaned back, closing her eyes, trying to breathe solely from her mouth, angered when her lungs exuded a hollow rasping noise at the intake of the cold outside air. There has to be another place I can hide. She could still hear squad cars, anyway, and occasionally found herself almost running again as their lights licked the stark brick surfaces of the skyscraper walls._

_The alleyway was probably too narrow for cars in the first place, but her mind was constantly chasing away fleeting images of the square-jawed marshall appearing at the alley's mouth, grinning smugly. She sat silently, cringing at the smells wafting from the garbage, it was her only shield from passerby, she couldn't move away. A necessary evil. She sat, sagging against the wall, breathing deeply through her mouth, occupying her wandering mind with the white clouds of hot air she exhaled. Just praying not to be found._

It wouldn't be so bad sleeping there, sure, it was cold, and she was wearing a tanktop, but she could cope. There were worse things. Maybe as much as an hour ago, she had accepted that no one was coming to find her. Jack was probably being a hero. And Sawyer was probably busy feeling hateful. She was perfectly fine by herself, thank you. There was nothing in the jungle. Who cared? That was the difference in Sawyer, his personality changed channels at an alarming rate. Was he made out of stone or gold? It was really too hard to tell at most times. He couldn't help anyone if, ultimately, he was just trying to wind up dead.

And Jack, she regarded him in her mind, she didn't know about Jack. There weren't any words to describe the way he went about life-- she paused her thoughts-- _a messiah complex._ That would be it. An essential part of her life thus far, she knew, was the ability, no matter how poor and amateur hers was, to let things _go._ He was a determined man, striking up a contrast to Sawyer's apathy-- which, come to think of it, she wasn't sure was real. Blinking down at the shady rock, and staring through the darkening light, she felt disheartened again; there it was, that fairytale hope that someone was coming to rescue her from herself.

Slumping against the jagged rockface, readjusting herself as the rocks jabbed at her spine, she dropped her eyes again, _I will not cry._ Repeating the mantra over and over in her head to encourage herself (however falsely), Kate sat, just praying to be discovered.

"You don't know where you're goin'," Sawyer gasped in frustration, piercing Jack with his stare.

Jack stopped his studious surveying of broken twigs, shrugging his shoulders and sighing, spreading his arms wide, "no, Sawyer, I don't. It's dark. I can't see, I don't know anything. _You're_ the last one who talked to her," his dark eyes glittered with suspicion under the slowly reappearing stars, "what did you say to her?"

Agape, Sawyer stared, "what, you blamin' this on _me_ now?"

"I just want to know what you said to make her run off." Jack said, miserably failing at an attempt to disguise the malice in his voice.

"I didn't say anything," Sawyer growled, making his way away from Jack.

"Look, I'm trying to find her," Jack said diplomatically, "you're not going to find her alone."

"Oh yeah?" Sawyer called from several yards away, "wanna bet, chief?"

Shaking his head, Jack continued to look for signs that someone had passed by here, a bit of broken treebark here, a twisted root there: It all seemed pretty pointless, "You'll get lost," he called after Sawyer, not particularly interested in what Sawyer was going to do, anyway.

"I'm followin' my own path," Sawyer answered harshly, glaring through the growing darkness in the direction of Jack's voice, "I'll find her."

"Suit yourself," Jack answered passively, continuing on his way.

Cursing under his breath, Sawyer resigned after a few more yards on his 'path', following several yards behind the sound of Jack's footsteps. _Who was he kiddin'?_

_She knew she was being looked for, the feeling left her even uneasier than the garbage can and it's rot-saturated tin walls. She gazed across the alley for the first time since taking refuge there. The opposite side was a short, decorative wrought-iron fence. Suddenly, despite her rasping breaths, she was possessed by the urge to move again. She would be found eventually if she did not. There was no stopping that. Standing, she kicked off the wall behind her and launched towards the fence, and, in one powerful spring, leaped over it._

_She probably wasn't supposed to be running through here. It looked kind of like a garden. The grass beneath her feet was soft, she could tell, lush, and bright emerald green, and well trimmed, too. The strong scent of evergreen was a welcome change from that of the garbage can. Oh... it's a tree grove. Well, she'd be in deep sht, again, if she was caught in here. There were probably 'no trespassing' signs all around the border. It's their fault for making the fence so short, she thought moodily, continuing to jog amongst the trees, as though her actions were justified._

_There were a lot of trees there. Almost like a little forest, an oasis inside the city. Exhilarated at the warmth flooding her cheeks from the running, and the difficulty to breathe, Kate found herself seeking out the tallest tree in the grove. Eagerly, almost hungrily, she dove under its bottom fringe of needles, uncaringly staining her blouse on the grass. Swinging her arm over the lowest branch, she began her ascension. Would they see her up there? Probably not, she reasoned, she could always hide amongst the prickly green clothing of the tree. The best part, by far, was that they wouldn't look up there, and she could sit, possibly for hours, avoiding them. Until, maybe, just maybe, they gave up on looking for her. That's how you run from the law-- quite practically, by taking measures to avoid it._

Kate struggled to gain purchase in climbing the rockface. If she could get to the top, where the ground was flat, and where the waterfall began, she would be found, most certainly, someone would notice her, it was very high up, almost even with all the treetops below her. Her foot slipped, hands clutching at the small, rough rock she had used to pull herself up a few feet. Crumbling shale fell down, clattering emptily on the flat rock below.

Taking a deep breath, she secured her feet again, looking for another rock to grip with her hands. After some doing, she found another. It looked wet, but it was considerably larger than the one she was currently holding. Swinging an arm up, feeling faintly the dizzyness of before, and the throbbing inside her skull, Kate caught the slippery rock, clinging to it for dear life while she struggled to plant her feet against the cliff face. With delight, she realized how close she'd been to the top to begin with, it was only a few feet (maybe three) above her head. If she could just kick up a leg, she could swing it over the edge, and with enough exertion, haul herself over the side. With no regards for the fresh pain in her head, she kicked up her right leg, wincing at the sudden jerking movement of her muscles.

_There it was, above her head. The highest branch that could possibly support her weight. Grinning, she leapt from the one below, skillfully catching the higher branch in her arms. Swinging her legs out, careful not to let them break the cover of the tree's green dress, she heaved herself onto the branch, bouncing on it a little to test its strength. It held her fine. Peaking out through the thick green spines of the tree, she could see the street opposite the plaza, the one she had first run from. She'd been wrong all along, no one had come after her. The streets in a square around the plaza were all blockaded with electric yellow road cones, which bore words in printed black, though she could not make them out._

_She could, however, distinguish the marshall's figure, looking, again, to her delight, quite confused at what had happened. He must have seen her run across the plaza, but he hadn't followed her... why? Maybe he'd lost sight of her. Giggling at her achievement, the disappointment of the red brick line wiped from her mind (at least momentarily), she surveyed the situation further. There were, indeed, squad cars circling the plaza. So they actually were looking for her, sort of. She peered out at the alley she had just left, her heart sank. Two men had left their squad car, and were searching the alley up and down. She slunk back into the tree, leaning against the trunk, and holding onto the branch below her to control her balance. That was lucky._

The heel of the tan hiking boot caught on the muddy ground atop the rockface. Straining her leg, she heaved upward, grabbing the ledge with her hands, and finally swinging herself over onto the mud and grass, which splashed unforgivingly onto her orange top. She collapsed in a heap, laughing a little, unable not to feel she had achieved something in climbing the rockface. Still laying down, she rolled onto her belly and peeked over the edge, the rockface was quite sheer up here at the top. _So how do I get down?_

Kate tapped her chin with a muddy hand, if she wanted someone to find her, she'd certainly have to make some kind of noise. Sawyer wouldn't be looking for her at all, he probably didn't care, just as she'd suspected. He was probably sleeping somewhere, hitting on someone, enjoying himself. There was always Jack. That would be alright. She cleared her throat, standing, uncaring for her ruined clothing, "JACK!" she yelled into the quiet night, pausing for breath before calling again, "JACK!"

"I'm gonna turn around," Sawyer said, fed up with the 'obviously' senseless wanderings through the jungle, "she's gonna come back," he mumbled selfishly, "don't matter anyway, you ain't gonna find her."

"Shh!" Jack suddenly said sharply, "did you hear that?" He had a keen, focused look in his eyes.

"Augh, come on," Sawyer scoffed skeptically, "I don't know why I'm even followin' yo-"

"JACK!" This time the cry was louder, it floated to their ears, muffled only by the treetops above them.

"It's Kate," Jack said clearly, nodding, "she's that way," he murmured, nodding in the direction of the cry.

Sawyer stood frozen where he stood. Well, they'd found her, hadn't they. But why the hell was she screamin' his name? He thought she oughtta know by now that he would be the one who came lookin' for her in these situations. He caught himself, _what have I done to show her that?_ He realized with shame, that, in fact, he had done nothing. She hated him. The recurring thought stung Sawyer's brain with guilt. But as he continued to turn over his thoughts of her, the selfish spark rekindled in his mind, his eyes flashed secretly in the dark, _well if she don't care, I don't either._ Sawyer turned sulkily on his heel.

"You coming?" Jack asked, confused.

"Hell, you found ol' Kate, didn't ya'? Don't need me to go get her for ya'. Dirty work's your job, Doc," his voice rang out through the dark, completely hiding the knot in his throat.

"Okay," Jack said, nodding in what seemed like understanding, grimacing, "fair enough, you head back, I'll find Kate," he finished, gesturing in the direction of the cry again.

As Jack trudged off, following the cry, Sawyer still stood, speechless. _Why couldn't she have just called my name?_ Scowling, thoroughly upset with Kate, and himself, he began walking back the way they had come.

Kate paced up and down across the ledge, there had been no answer to her yell. Maybe Jack wasn't out looking for her after all. That would only mean that no one really was, she thought, sitting down on the ledge with a thud, letting her mud-splashed jeans hang over the edge, she stared down the waterfall. She could always just go back. _Yes, I can go back._ All she'd have to do was find her way off the ledge, from there, she knew her way back to the hatch. It was a long way down, she thought, looking over the edge with a deadly sinking feeling in her stomach, _how to do this, hmm._

Carefully, Kate turned herself around, leaning down on one leg to see if the other would reach over the edge to that highest rock, the wet one. Carefully, she extended her leg. It reached, she realized, her face lighting up. Slowly, cautiously, she lowered herself down, hands clutching the ledge on which she'd stood. She lowered her left leg down to the slippery rock, praying she wouldn't slip. She slipped. Her feet went flying off the slick, uneven surface of the rock, desperately scrambling to get them back on, she felt her hands slip off the ledge above.

Sawyer felt proud of himself, it had been maybe ten minutes tops, and he had already found his way back to the hatch's main entrance. Glowering, despite his best efforts to turn his thoughts, he ran his hand along the outside of he door. _Aw hell, it was time to get over this. She didn't care. She loved the doctor._ Looking forward, he opened the door and stepped inside, slamming it behind himself.

Heart beating feverishly, Kate found herself falling down, down and-- not that far at all. She landed on the cold, hard flat rock on which she'd sat earlier, on her feet. Her legs folded beneath her, shaking violently from the impact. Kneeling on the stone, she impulsively surveyed the surrounding land, even looked across the pond and the waterfall, to make sure no one had seen her clumsy fall. She stood up, shaking, and dusted herself off. She gained her balance back and readjusted the forehead bandage. _What the hell, calling out again was worth a try. There hadn't been the expected return yell from Jack, maybe -he- was out there after all._ Kate paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, "SA-" she began loudly, there was a crunching of twigs from the bushes, Kate stopped, her expression dropping, "Locke?"

Bedraggled, and dazed by the sudden appearance of a clearing, Jack stumbled out of the bushes, "Kate," he said loudly and clearly, blinking, as though to make sure she was, in fact, standing right there. Kate's heart sank. _How noble._ She leapt nimbly from the flat rock. Her head was pounding again.

"Jack," she said breathlessly, arriving at his side, looking around in the darkness, straining her eyes for any sign of _him._

"How'd you find this place?" Jack asked, bewildered and awed.

"Where's Sawyer?" Kate asked in response, ignoring him, looking around the clearing for him, as she had done earlier in the hatch.

"He went back to the hatch." Jack said, still staring around.

"Went back?" Kate asked, failing to hide her interest.

"Yeah, he was with me at first but... he left," Jack said distractedly. His eyes came back into focus suddenly, "why'd you run off?"

"I didn't," Kate said, surprised, "I needed to walk, needed to think for a while."

Jack reached up a concerned arm to straighten her bandages again, "you shouldn't have done that. You need to lay down," he said with something that sounded dangerously like frustration.

Kate looked at him, chewing her tongue, was he still thinking about that morning's false come-ons? "Yeah, uh..." Kate said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "can we go back?"

"Yeah," Jack said, still staring, starry-eyed, around the clearing.

"_Yesterday..." Kate began uncomfortably, leaning over the back of the couch, looking at Sawyer as he laid there on the bunk, she laughed a little, "er..."_

"_What's wrong, Sassafrass?" He asked, mockingly._

"_Nothing," Kate sighed, still feeling the old, familiar guilt._

"_Joy," he said sarcastically, "what, you gonna be all depressed every time we hook up?" He asked, carefully choosing his words._

"_N-no," Kate stammered, feeling herself blush as blood rushed to her face at the shame and excitement of furthering their relationship. That was it. She felt like she'd betrayed someone by doing this. Jack? Maybe. Tom? Her heart skipped a beat, she closed her eyes, batting away her own thoughts, coupled with those of the growing sense of shame, "I'm a mess." she concluded, hoping that would somehow suffice in explaining everything._

"_Me too," Sawyer answered vaguely, still grinning._

_Kate felt annoyed, why wouldn't he just wipe that ridiculous smile off his face and be serious for once in his life? "Why're you so happy?" She asked quietly, restraining the urge to haul off and slap him._

"_Nothin' to be sad about, Freckles," he sparkled, continuing to smile._

_That's it, she thought, he knows what's wrong with me. He's getting his daily sadistic little pleasures from mocking me, she realized bitterly, "you think so?" she asked coyly._

"_Sure do," he said, still smiling. Behind his flashing grin, he was, in fact, wondering why he was torturing her. She was cute when she was awkward around him. That seemed to justify it, for now, anyway._

_Kate sent her gaze downward, oh well, I'll get back at him, looking purposely forlorn to catch his attention, ashamed at the advantage she was taking of her own feelings._

"_Whas' wrong?" He asked again, his grin failing to waiver. Sawyer looked away from her, also deliberately, he felt like a pig, to grin at her while she was looking like that. He realized, though, that whatever game she thought she was playing, whatever test she thought she was giving, he knew it well._

_Kate was irritated again, what did he think asking what was wrong with her was going to achieve? He knew she wasn't going to answer his questions. She turned her eyes up to him, "How are -you- feeling today?" She asked, pointedly evading his question, though she had already asked her own once before._

"_Oh I'm just fine," he said, his accent adding a leisurely stroke to the statement, "but I asked about you."_

"_I'm fine," Kate said defiantly, "I just..." she stammered, afraid to hurt her pride anymore than she feared she already had._

"_Just what?" He asked, his grin actually losing a bit of strength._

"_I guess I'm sick of being toyed with."_

"_Oh, I ain't toyin' with ya', doll," he said, in a tone of mock affection, "takes two to tango."_

_He was right,_ Kate thought dismally as she and Jack reached the hatch door. Whatever she found inside, she had played her own part in it, in one way or another. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for any injuring comments, but mostly, those hateful eyes. Her heart thundered, in spite of herself, as the door swung inward. She could see him stretched out on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. He didn't even turn his head upon hearing them enter. _Doesn't even care that I'm here,_ Kate noted, her stomach turning a somersault. She headed for the bunkbed, under Jack's orders to lay down, making sure to pass by him on the couch. Letting her mud-caked jeans rake across his arm as she walked past, she cast him a sideways, questing glance out of the corners of her eyes. He glared back ferociously. _Knew he would._


	7. Chapter 7

_You gotta get out of this place. Drunk men give good advice._

Blue eyes snapped open, pupils dilating dramatically, changing from blind blackness to small black pinpricks. _Shit._ He had fallen asleep on the less than comfortable couch. An aura of heat surrounded his outstretched body, creating a distorted view of the things around him. He propped his neck up on one of the couch's circular arms, wincing at a sharp pain that lanced through his muscles. His skin glowed with a transparent film of sweat, shining brightly on his cheeks. Allowing his chest to rise and fall in slow, controlled breaths, he peeked over the low, curving back of the couch, shaking a string of sweat-sodden hair from his eyes.

She was still there, breathing softly, sleeping peacefully. Resting his chin on the couch's side, he surveyed her face. Pale, angelic, glittering in the dark, masking all her secrets. _Someone must have turned that damned fake light off._ Sitting up even further, he peered at the doorway, there was a warm light flowing in through the arching doorway. _Locke or Jack must be pressin' the button._ Nightmares always roused Sawyer. His brow creased into a stern look of worry as he lowered himself back onto the couch. The quiet of the room rang in his ears, he ached to hear a sound, of any kind, just to destroy the tension that was quiet. He raised a large hand to his forehead, outstretching two fingers and pressing them to his skin, moving them in slow circles. _Just go back to sleep._

Continuing to massage his forehead, he sought for a way to occupy his other hand. Tensely, he ran it through his still damp hair, sighing exhaustedly. He felt an urge, again, to reach into the left pocket of his jeans, to draw the paper out, and to hold it, if nothing else. Reassurance that his nightmare was nothing more than just that -- a nightmare, it was in his hands, almost. He sighed again, running his hands over his face now, scratching his stubble-covered jaw. He turned his body restlessly onto its side, clenching his hands into tight fists, allowing his fingernails to dig into the moist skin of his palms.

One day this would all just go away. After they got off this place, it would be better. He sighed again, frowning at himself, and pushing up against the back of the couch until he was sitting up straight. Resting his forehead in his hands for a few brief moments, he shook his head again. _Don't read it. Don't touch it._ Kate's old words needled at him suddenly, he just 'couldn't get over his baggage'.

Impatiently, almost unconsciously, in spite of his thoughts, he let his hand stray to his pocket, not caring as he fished around in its frayed, lint littered depths for the old piece of paper. At last his fingers fell upon it. He ran them pensively over its crumpled yet smooth, cool surface, an easy contrast from the heated, rough denim which clung tenaciously to his perspiring body. _Right back where I started,_ he realized in disappointment as his fingers closed around the thing. He pulled it slowly from his pocket, still upset at his lack of willpower. Placing the crumpled, folded square of paper in his lap, he let go as though it had burned him, flexing his fingers and hanging them over it, fighting with his urge to unfold it and allow his eyes to pour over its contents.

Sawyer noticed, with distress, that his hand was shaking tensely as he held it suspended above the paper. He heaved another sigh, this time an angry one. _Grow up._ He steadied his hand, allowing it to fall again to the paper. Closing his eyes, he allowed his free hand, too, to drop to it, and winced shortly as he slowly began the process of smoothing the aged paper over his shins. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter still, he worked out every groove of the sheet. He lifted his hands from it again, resisting, all at once, the urges to open his eyes and read it, to covet it, and to rip it apart. He clenched his fists again, feeling with his fingertips where his nails had punctured just minutes earlier. Opening his eyes, and his palms, he looked down at his hands, they were red, sweating, and most shamefully of all, shaking.

He balled them again to stop the tremors running through them, carefully avoiding sending his eyes past his fists and down to the presently out-of-focus paper. Stretching his fingers again, he leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. _Don't go soft._ Determined, now, to keep his goal in sight, he allowed his eyebrows to draw together in the customary scowl, and turned his head back down to the object of his obsession. It was a simple thing, just a crinkled old paper, he thought, ignoring the writing on it. A child's writing, scrawled in the messy, underdeveloped hand only a youth could manage. He winced as he noticed it. _No goin' back now._ He allowed his now darkened eyes to trace over the letters, reading each word again and again:

"Dear Mr. Sawyer,

You don't know who I am but I know who you are and I know what you done. You had sex with my mother and then stole my dad's money all away. So he got angry and he killed my mother and then he killed himself, too. All I know is your name. But one of these days I'm going to find you and I'm going to give you this letter so you'll remember what you done to me. You killed my parents, Mr. Sawyer."

Clutching the paper in his fist, he lifted it from his legs and stuffed it hurriedly back in his pocket, glancing self consciously around the room. No one was watching. _Good._ He laid back down, stiffly staring up at the ceiling again. _One day._

"_We need the money now."_

"_Yeah, yeah," a voice said sheepishly from a darker corner of the hotel room._

"_You can't just borrow and not pay back," said a deeper voice, menacingly adding, "that's not how it works."_

"_I know," said the quieter voice again, stepping out of the shadows. He was a tall boy, but probably no older than twenty, his face was smooth, unhardened, its angles soft, unpronounced. He shook shaggy blonde hair out of his face, revealing serious, dark brows that bunched together in worry. If any part of that clean shaven face had not fit with its other components, it was those eyes. However unworn the boy's features looked, his eyes were steely, sharp, shrewd, hardened as though they had seen too much for a boy of such age, a dark contrast from his youthful, attractive face. He went on in a somewhat alluring southern drawl, "I'll have it by Friday."_

"_It's Wednesday," the other man reminded him warily, his deep voice resonating throughout the room. He sat on the edge of the room's bed, a hard, square thing with rough, tacky, brown covers. He shifted his weight hesitantly, causing the springs beneath the lumpy, uneven mattress to scream in protest, "if you don't have it..."_

"_I will," said the boy again, his voice growing louder and more confident as he reassured himself, "I've almost got it now."_

_The other man's dark eyes lit up, his wrinkled, reddened face twitched. The boy could see he had overstepped his bounds, and quickly withdrew into the shadows. There he felt safe, invulnerable, unseen. He cast his eyes about the grubby room, the whitewashed walls were anything but. Above the bed's scratched plastic headboard hung a portrait of flowers, bright yellow things. The carpet, a hideous hue of yellow itself, was peeling up along the walls and the corners._

_There was no television in the room, no telephone, or any other connection with the outside world, for that matter. Just a cheap bedside table, with a circular, blue-flecked Formica top, and a curving, black metal leg that found its way to the floor, where it stood securely on five divisions of itself. Upon the table was a black, leatherbound volume, with golden embossing on the cover, "the Holy Bible." The boy turned his head away, nonplussed, he felt himself weakening under the man's watch._

"_Why you stayin' here anyway?" He asked, fidgeting as he stared around the poorly furnished, unattractive room, itching to be given a chance to get out, "don't you have..." he paused, uneasy at where his question was leading. His voice dropped to a cautious whisper, "don't you have cash?"_

"_Times are tough," the man sighed, allowing his voice to ease from the deep, guttural sound in which he had talked before._

"_Can I...?" The boy began timidly._

"_You can go, boy," he said sleepily, waving a hand to dismiss him._

_Gratefully, he began shuffling towards the fake wooden door, welcoming the freezing door knob. It stung to touch, but it was better than the room, better than a lot of things._

"_Wait," the man called thoughtfully._

_The boy's heart sank, he was silent, fiddling impatiently with the sleeves of his denim jacket, "Sir?"_

"_Just remember," the man said softly, almost cooing, "you know what'll happen if you don't bring it..." his voice trailed, "everything you do for me brings you closer and closer. Paying your debts is the first step in succeeding."_

_Sucks, don't it?_ He thought, upset as he returned, once more, to the realm of consciousness. He opened his eyes and ears, casting his eyes about the room. There were people in the hatch now, that damned light was on again. Kate was gone, though. _Sucks to not have anyone to care about you._ He set his jaw firmly, gritting his teeth. _Not gonna show that. You're stronger than that._ He sat up again, still covered in the layer of sticky sweat produced from his night's dreams. Sitting up, his muscles tensing, he began to think, _where had she gone, anyway?_ He leaned back again, feeling sore in every possible way.

Locke peered in at him from the computer room, "I don't think you're well," he said astutely, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes.

"I think I know how I feel," Sawyer said curtly, leaping up from the couch, "which is fine, thanks," he finished, standing and all but falling to the floor.

"Lookin' for Kate?" Locke asked with a little smile.

Sawyer cast him a sulky glare, sticking his lower jaw out fiercely, but begrudging him an answer. _What the hell was with that smile of his?_

Locke continued to smile, his eyes glimmering, "She's out on the beach," Locke continued in a quieter voice, as though sharing a secret, pointing to the door.

Sawyer just continued to stare at him, blinking stupidly, not registering his words. Lazily, he backed away and slumped against the opposite wall, looking around the room. He was eager to leave. To find Kate. He clenched his teeth, looking dismally at the ancient record player. _She wouldn't wanna talk to me._ "I need air," he suddenly said, feeling queasy.

Locke nodded understandingly, granting him another one of his little smiles, before slinking back to his shift in front of the computer. Sawyer stumbled sloppily to the door. Turning the wheel-handle, he found himself slumping on the handle, using it to maintain his balance, turning it only weakly. _This is because of last night,_ he thought, feeling pained as he finally succeeded in opening the door. The sudden touch of cool air on his wet skin thrilled his senses, refreshing his mind. He stumbled, if possible, more coherently than before, along the path that he was sure, recalling the previous morning, she had followed before arriving at his tent.

_Sorry._ That's why she'd been there. Maybe that's why he was going to find her. Not only that. He needed to gain ground back for not going with Jack to bring her back to the hatch. Cursing himself, he rejected his jealous impulses, they had already led him astray enough. She wasn't going to accept any silly little apologies. He'd just have to go make his presence known to her, then. There it was, that sprawling blanket of white-- the beach. Leaning heavily on one arm against the last tree before the break in the jungle, he breathed deeply of the ocean air, scanning the beach for any sign of Kate. He strained to see past the locks of hair that tumbled into his eyes, shaking his head to avoid them.

Everything seemed blurry, surreal. He couldn't focus, he realized, feeling sick at himself. Pushing away from the tree at last, he stumbled onto the sand, still searching the beach for a trace of her. The blue tarp of his tent caught his eye, and furthermore, the graceful, dark haired figure that sat directly in front of it. _Weird. What was she doin' there anyway?_

Suavely, shoulders rocking from left to right as he walked, he approached her stooping form. She didn't seem to notice him, though he knew she could feel him there when he stood just a few feet away from her, "Hey, Freckles," he said brazenly.

Kate didn't answer, in fact, she didn't even move. He sighed, "No need to be moody," he started, "I didn't do anything..." he paused, hesitating, unable to read her emotions, "today." He had to pretend he didn't care.

"_It takes two to tango." I'm eatin' my words._

_Sawyer kicked his feet up against the end of the bunkbed, "Just one more week down here," he said, smiling. It was a few days since their last conversation, and he readily welcomed the site of Kate in the hatch with him again. Apparently she had been mad, for one of her usual ungodly reasons. He hadn't really done anything last time they'd talked, after all... discounting the incessant smiles aimed at pissing her off._

"_I'm happy for you," Kate glittered._

_Something wasn't right, Sawyer gazed around the room. Kate was leaning against the wall in her usual position. Nothing was missing. Oh. She's not teasing me. Almost laughing at his good fortune, he said heartily, "This is alright."_

_Kate raised a brow, "Hm?"_

"_Not bein'..." he paused, sounding -soft- again._

"_Angry," Kate finished for him, nodding in fervent agreement._

_He blinked at her, annoyed at the artificial light, this was insane. No one was mad. No one wanted sex. They were just... talking. He smiled, flashing his teeth and laying back on the bed, "So..." he said, not sure what he was leading on to._

"_I need a favor," Kate said, biting her lip, as if it completely explained her presence._

"_Ahhh," Sawyer breathed, subduing his grin a bit, "figures."_

_Kate cast her eyes down, "I..."_

"_Yeah?" Sawyer asked, impatiently._

_Kate was weighing her options, but finally she lifted her face to his, "I can trust you, right?"_

_Sawyer glanced shiftily from her to the doorway, as if they were speaking of something conspiratorial, yet he kept his mouth shut. What the hell was she talking about?_

_Kate bit her lip again, taking his silence for agreement, "it's more of a promise, actually..." she said tentatively, watching his face. A small flash of interst danced across his features, but still, he kept his defiantly set mouth, his thin lips, sealed._

"_When we get off this island--"_

_Sawyer was apprehensive, there was only one way to relax himself, he knew, "You anticipatin' that's gonna happen sometime soon, sweetheart?" he asked, half-grinning at the absurdity of the idea._

"_No, Sawyer, I'm serious," she went on, her expression reflecting her words, her features looked meaningful, driven, in an indistinguishable way, "when we get off..." she took a step towards him, "you have to promise..." she paused again... taking another step._

_Sawyer almost rolled his eyes, sighing, "enough of the dramatic pauses, sweet cheeks, get on with it."_

_Fully bridging the gap between them, she leaned against the bedpost, "You have to promise that you'll hide me..." she whispered, looking hesitantly at him._

"_What?" He asked gruffly, quite taken aback at her demand. Sure, they'd had sex, sure he'd hugged her. Sure, he MIGHT have said he loved her. But those were just words, actions, what did any of that mean, in the long run? His mind raced, how could she ask him to do -that-?_

"_You're one of the only people I trust here..." she waited for a minute, looking uncomfortable, "what am I supposed to do when we... you know..."_

_He glowered at her, almost ready to say, "fess up", until he realized that the statement would apply to him, too, in the future, and at the present. His heart skipped a beat. Why did he follow Kate around? Why did he regard her the way he did? He had to feel something for her, right? Had he ever felt like thi-- He stopped himself, his brain felt fit to burst, "I ca-an't help you," he said hoarsely, ashamed of the crack in his own voice._

_Her face at that moment was equivalent to being punched in the stomach. Even her twice repeated whispers of "that's alright" failed to quell the unrest growing in the pit of his belly, he could have just said yes. After all, what was he himself going to do once they got away from this place? They would get off this place, after all... For the first time since the crash, he felt a horrible, sickly feeling of uncertainty._

_It was not until after Kate had left the room that he realized why he had given her no clear answer._

Sawyer slid to a sitting position beside Kate, "What'd I do?" he asked, trying to sound more mocking than concerned. _What's more important now, how I look, or how she feels?_ His throat felt incredibly dry, he swallowed scratchily.

"Why didn't you come with Jack?"

"Huh?"

"To get me, why weren't you there?" Kate asked quietly, also feigning indifference.

"I didn't feel so great last night," he lied, "I couldn't."

"You started out with him," Kate said accusatorially, still trying vainly not to sound too concerned.

"You called his name," Sawyer shot back, feeling as though that sealed it.

Kate opened her mouth to speak, before she realized that was, in fact, what she had done. Sawyer lifted himself to his feet, shaking sand from his legs. At last, Kate turned around to look at him, looking a bit confused, "Where are you going?"

"No use stayin' here, I got somethin' to do."

"_COME BACK!" screamed the panicked voice of a woman. Tossing a dark chocolate colored suitcase nonchalantly into an old, run down, dumpy looking Volvo, the young boy slammed the car door, rolling the window up with the crank on the door, ignoring the pleas of the woman ouside._

"_This isn't how you said it would work!" she screamed again, sobbing now, red hair flying everywhere._

"_Life ain't fair," he called after her through the smallest remaining crack of the window before rolling it completely up to drown her voice totally._

_Unconsciously, he stuck the keys in the ignition and backed out of her driveway, uncaring as he noticed her husband struggling with her in the family's front lawn. Smugly, he began the drive back to the hotel he had visited just two nights prior. Swindling people certainly wasn't new to the boy, he'd probably been working at that since age thirteen. And using sex to get what he wanted? Oldest trick in the book, and it had operated well for him since around the age of fifteen. Life wasn't exactly easy, the way things were, but it worked out, sometimes. "Knew I'd have the money fast," he chuckled self-assuredly as the car tires crunched on the gravel outside the beat up motel._

_Suitcase in hand, he climbed the flight of stairs that led to the walkway in front of the second floor hotel rooms, blinking away the neon glow of the motel sign with those harsh, calculating eyes. Enjoying the sound of his footsteps on the iron walkway, he savored each footfall, making sure to take his time in getting there. Several minutes later, he arrived in front of the room, its door was scratched and scuffed all over, in the center, where there should have been a shiny little metal room number plaque, there was just a spot of paler faux-wood, unexposed for as long as the rest, to the forces of nature. Straightening his black leather jacket, he rapped sharply on the door with a boney, graceful knuckle. Almost instantly, it swung open. There was his wrinkly, red-faced employer, looking quite drunk, and smelling strongly of alchohol. Cautiously, the shaggy-haired boy offered him the suitcase, which the man promptly took inside and cracked open on his bed, checking the bills inside for watermarks._

"_Cold, hard cash," the boy said, proud of himself._

"_This is good, James, very good," slurred the man, "I'm glad you founda' way ta' pay m'back s'fast."_

"_Pleasure to do business," he said, disregarding the incoherently mumbled praise._

"_Right, James, good an' well," said the man, "you should be on yer way then, night. **You gotta get out of this place.** You could have a future, boy." Abruptly, the door was slammed in the boy's fair, fine featured face, leaving him standing alone in the chill night air._

_"You could have a future," he considered, thoughtfully, a slow realization striking him. Suddenly, his heart felt as if it had been turned to ice. Every muscle in him froze, his breath became labored, if it came at all. He recognized what he'd done to the woman in an instant, the most awful, drawn out instant of his nineteen years of life. He had become the man who had destroyed him. _

Sawyer crept inside the tent, gathering numerous items, there was the gun, which he quickly secured in the back of his jeans. He snatched a backpack up from the ground inside, tossing a box of ammo (which he had reclaimed from the fuselage before it had been burned) inside. Various things found their ways into the pack. A blanket, a few pairs of clothing. Then there were the things he'd been given from the hatch, the non-perishable food items he kept in his tent. Carelessly throwing three bottles of water and several cans of... something into the pack, he zipped it up, feeling set. He swung the blue and black cloth bag over his shoulder, exiting the tent.

"Sawyer?" Kate called after him as he walked along the beach, away from the camp, "What are you doing?"

"Goin' for a walk," he lied, "hope you don't have a problem, you seem to go for walks a lot."

Turning away from her completely, he continued to make his way down the beach under the morning sun. He could go far in today's light alone. He felt a desperate need to be away from everyone. Away from people in general. Away where he couldn't get blamed for peoples' problems and accused of being an asshole. _What's the point of stickin' around just to have people pissed at ya'? What's even the point of tellin' anyone I'm leavin'? Hell, nobody cares! Maybe I'll just pull a 'Kate the Jungle Princess' and meditate in the woods for a few days,_ he thought sarcastically.

_It's my turn to run away._


	8. Chapter 8

_What would he say to her when she came back? Pushing his back against the wall behind the bunk, he glared across the room, making sure she hadn't already done so. He felt his face fall, she wasn't coming back. He glowered again, catching himself, what had he done to make her expect that of him? People were always asking favors of him, and he hardly knew any of them. Did she have any idea what **trust** was? He rested his chin on a hand, with no regards for his own knowledge of trust, "Yeah, she thinks she knows me," he mumbled in a sinister tone._

_Casting a dismal glance around the hatch, he sighed, slumping back onto the pillows, exhausted, feeling as though he had finished a shift at the lumberyard of his youth. Briefly, he was back in Tennessee. The glazed look in his eyes betraying his angry stare; millions of images rushed into his brain. Old women in floral print dresses, the dry, southern smell of potpourri, a crying woman, cut wood. A man sitting on a bed, a loud bang. He shook himself momentarily, blinking his unfocused eyes. Had that been in his memory, too? His heart surged, his stomach clenched. Blinking harder, tensing his muscles, he was under the bed again, breathing in the dusty, choking air, the ever familiar, pungent scent of that same old potpourri burning his nostrils. He tightened his fists, fingertips slipping on the sweat drenched palms. He shivered, squeezing his eyes shut again, struggling to maintain the scowl that marked his face. He felt his features slip into worry, fighting to bring them back to their angry beginnings._

"_Sawyer?" Came a cautious voice._

_That's my name, he thought dersively, his forehead growing sore from the prolonged strain on its muscles. Thousands of voices had said it over the years. They echoed around in his head, screaming in a myriad of different ways, ricocheting off the inner walls of his skull and--_

"_Sawyer," the voice said more strongly, slicing the air in a highly juxtaposed, dragging, pacifying way._

_Sawyer forced his eyes upon, feeling his eyelids' damp surfaces on the skin under his brows. Little white lights exploded in front of his eyes. His scowl dropped into a bewildered expression, as he began to swivel his head around, searching the room with unseeing eyes. He tightened his jaw, wanting to reach out and flail through the air at whoever was speaking to him, but too afraid to appear clumsy or unaware to find who was calling his name. The white spots melted away, gradually, leaving a blurred, swirling view of the hatch, and a sole man peering at him across the room._

_He blinked seriously, struggling to recover from the swirling colors in his eyes. They widened, not with surprise, but with spite, hardening as they opened and returned to focus, "Whatcha' want, Abdul?" he spat poisonously, offended that he, of all people, had seen him in his most vulnerable state of delirium._

"_You do not look well," Sayid half-whispered, as though speaking to a child, the condescending articulations of each of his words causing Sawyer's mind to erupt into scampering thoughts of hitting the man. Wouldn't be that hard. Just stand up and... he tried to move-- wanting to collapse in an instant._

"_Yeah? Well I feel just fine," he snarled, peering up at the man again through a sheet of sandy hair, "what was that noise?"_

"_The door. It was loud in closing," Sayid answered simply, raising his eyebrows innocently, "why do you ask?"_

"_Sounded like somethin' else," Sawyer mumbled, making sure his voice was close to inaudibility. He had a few questions of his own. "Why're you down here?" he sneered, still angry at the exposure of his weakness._

"_You look fevered," Sayid said delicately, brushing the question aside, "I'll get Jack," he said, determined, his voice falling noticeably._

"_No," Sawyer barked hoarsely, "I feel fine," he gritted through clenched teeth, "you enjoyin' this, Mohammed?"_

_A flicker of amusement lit Sayid's face momentarily, "no," he said, still with that maddeningly level voice, "you are sweating. I think you need--"_

"_Shut up," Sawyer coughed, crumpling, "I don't need the damn doctor."_

"_Oh," Sayid said, throat bobbing slowly as he spoke, "you would rather lie there in pain," his lips twitched at the irony of the statement._

"_I ain't in pain," Sawyer said harshly, making sure to soften his glare, "just thinkin'."_

_Sayid's eyebrow moved faintly, a question lit his face._

"_None of your business," Sawyer said, swallowing hard._

"_I wouldn't have thought to ask," Sayid said disarmingly._

"_Why'd you come down," Sawyer asked again, more savagely this time, "wanna torture me again?"_

_Sayid looked down, shame flitting across his face, a tremor rippling through his upper lip. He looked up again, quickly regaining himself, ignoring Sawyer once more, "Why do you not want the doctor?"_

_Sawyer turned away, allowing himself to slide down on the pillows at his back again. Grinding his teeth, he turned away from Sayid, "What're you now? My shrink?"_

_Had a lot of those._ With each step, his feet sunk further into the sand around them, making walking difficult. With irritation, he realized that, upon his last step, sand had seeped over the top edges of his shoes, pouring down the sides of his feet, and working their way between the fibers of his socks. Scratching his feet. He didn't feel her gaze on him anymore. A trickle of sweat ran into his eyes, stinging with the salted air it carried into them.

Stopping, he heaved a sigh, ruffling his hair to dry it of freshly perspired sweat. Shoulders moving up and down with his breaths, he surveyed the beach ahead of him, maybe another mile, and it would hook into a curve, where he would be completely out of the sight of those back at the camp. Perfect. He wanted desperately to turn back, to retrieve his tube of sunscreen from the tent, to stop the furious onslaught of the sun. Couldn't go back now. She'd see him, without a doubt. She'd laugh at how weak he was. _It don't matter, really. I deserve to be burned. _Fighting to keep his eyes open under the sweltering heat waves that roiled against them, he continued to walk, making no effort to keep the scratching sand out of his feet, taking an occasional heavier step in order to fill his shoes with even more of the grit.

Minutes later, he stopped again. Curiously, he chanced a glance back at the camp. People moved about it like insects, some scurrying frantically, others slowly wandering the spaces between the small dwellings that furnished the beach. She wasn't in front of his tent anymore, he realized, half afraid to admit his own relief to himself. Nothing worse than having someone _stare._ He turned away, focusing on the curve in the beach, setting his sights on the lone tree that shaded a portion of it, its sprawling leafy canopy looked heavenly. _I'll stop there._ The air was acid on his stinging skin, every bit of ocean spray the paling wind kicked up singed him, seeming to sear tiny holes in the tender flesh of his cheeks. _God damn,_ it was more of an irritation than anything else, he could always just step away from the-- he stopped his thoughts again. _I deserve this,_ the well rehearsed thought sprung into his brain. Continuing to trudge on, staring ever determinately at the tree, he shook his head, trying not to blink as, this time, sea spray found its way to his eyes.

"Augh, sht," he almost shouted, blinking his eyes in spite of himself to stop the stinging. He was suddenly reminded of shampoo in his eyes as a child. He grimaced, wanting to hit himself. _Damn it,_ he thought again, forcing his eyes open, only to see another curtain of the little water droplets just before they struck his face. He braced himself, pushing his feet forward. The breeze was angrier now. The droplets struck his skin like tiny shards of glass, though, he noticed, with relief, that the salinity in the air was gone. Another curtain of tiny droplets, sparkling, came rushing into his face. The sun was still out, he could feel it on his back. But now the treetops, even that of his would-be shelter, were whipping about furiously. For the first time, he looked up. He blinked away another sheet of water, confused for a single second. The sun was no longer besieging his back. The air around him seemed to change, though he wasn't sure how, and most of all, he noted, the swirling, fog-gray of the clouds that had somehow appeared over his head. Stupefied, he blinked away the lashing belts of rain as they continued to dash against his body. He was soaking, his clothes clinging to him, almost as though they were trying, with all their might, not to be carried away in the steadily growing gale.

He looked over his shoulder again, the little bugs had crawled into their hives and hills, wanting out of the angry wind and rain. _Just a little further._ He turned his head to the tree again, wanting, needing to be under it, not to be out of the rain, no, there was something there. Dragging his feet, almost as heavily as the weight of his pack, he shoved onward. The rain was cold, soothing. _This, this he did not deserve._ Relishing, and hating, all at once, the less than pleasant stabs of the raindrops, he was overwhelmed by the urge to lay down, just here, in the wet, muddied sand. _But there's something under that tree,_ he found himself thinking, rather childishly. He realized, annoyed again, that this is what Kate must have been running for. He snorted, tossing his head, trying to shake out his hair out, to no avail. _Nothing. Nothing in common with her._ He glared, feet numb from walking as he pressed forward, trying to mimic the pin-pricking feeling starting up in them in his mind.

He could just lay down right... here. He winced as a burning pain ripped through his shoulder. He glared at the sky, as though his look alone would change its sudden fury.

"Ain't gonna hurt," he grunted incoherently, "ain't gonna let it hurt," he growled again to himself, his feet now sinking deep into the sloshy sand. He kicked them forward with each step, trying to free them of the mud that piled gradually onto their tops.

There it was. The tree was right there. Gratefully, he stumbled into its now non-existant shadow. It wasn't much drier here... but there had to be... something. His stomach lurched. Something about the tree was familiar. It was in the air all around him, teasing at his senses as it swirled with the misty-faint scent of rain. _Potpourri._

"_Momma?" tugging at the pink cuffs of her sweater, a young boy whimpered at his mother's hip, worried by her recent actions, feverishly trying to figure out what was wrong with her, "what's wrong?" A few dying rays of sunlight slipped between the frills of a laced drape, hanging from a tall window in the decadent house._

_The woman simply managed a smile, however deceitful, wide, heavily lidded eyes softening a little as she looked down at the small, golden-haired youth, "Nothing, baby."_

_Satisfied, the boy looked around at the big, familiar room, wrinkling his nose at the clear, decorated, full-of-flowers dish on the coffee table in the room's center. He didn't like its smell, "Always smells so musty in here," he said in a high pitched, boyish voice, squeaky in its southern lengthenings of sound._

_The woman just ruffled his hair, smiling again, "come on, I'll read to you, just before Daddy gets home," she turned her head away so the boy would not see her biting her lip as she hurried him to the stairs._

"_Momma?" The boy asked, shocked at the suggestion, "what about dinner?"_

_The boy's mother just raised a thin, fine-boned finger to her lips, continuing to hustle him up the white-carpeted staircase._

_No dinner? The boy's small, rounded features turned cross, his lips turning down into a bit of a pout._

_The tall, blonde woman flicked the lightswitch in the little boy's room gently, scooting him inside, closing the door carefully behind her, looking around now. Cocking his head to one side, the boy delayed his usual pounce onto the bed, "what are we gonna read together?"_

_Concern marred her pointed face, "sit down," she whispered, her voice shrill._

_The boy obeyed immediately, "yes ma'am." Why'm I in trouble?_

_His mother rushed to the bedroom window, peeking outside once before scampering back towards her son, who sat, bewildered, on his bed's edge. Her hands trembled as she held him in them, running them over his face. Tears sprung into her wide eyes. The boy sat, silent, staring, he had never before seen her like this._

_Fear crept, tauntingly, into the corners of his small heart, he wanted, again, to whisper his question to his mother. Afraid he was in trouble, afraid he had done something absolutely unforgivable, he just returned her stare, trying vainly to keep his heart from flying from his chest, as he knew it would._

"_Y-you..." she stammered, her voice shaking, "you stay in here, okay James?"_

_The boy nodded solemnly, still staring at her in perplexity._

"_Good," his mother reassured, trying to soften her voice from the panicked squeal it was quickly rising to, "I want you to wait down here, okay?" She said, not wanting an answer, as she lifted him from the bed's edge and gave him a soft shove toward's the place under the bed, "right there... up against the wall. I'll be right back, in just a minute," she whispered, frantically now. A floorboard creaked outside his shut door. The hallway light flashed on._

_Confused, still, the boy obeyed again, crawling on his hands and knees under the bed, almost choking as he breathed in a cloud of dust in the long forgotten corner of the room._

"_Stay there," she ordered, her voice breaking into a faint sob as another sound came from outside the door. No. Not outside the door, it -was- the door. A foreboding creak issued from the ill-managed hinges of the white, four-paneller. The boy's mother skittered to her feet._

_The boy followed her feet with his eyes, even more confused as they met with a pair of shiny new cowboy boots, intricate in their many, unnecessary lacings. They clicked impatiently on the floor. A sharp gasp floated to his ears as the door snapped shut. The boy fidgeted, itching away the dust that stuck to his sweating neck, what was that?_

_There was a yell from the hall now, a scream. Someone crashing into something. A dull thud. The boy breathed in the dust, uncaring now that it scratched his throat painfully. It was silent. Had Momma fallen? Suddenly, a huge noise melted the stillness of the air, seeming to shake the bed under which he hid. It was familiar. A gun? He'd heard it a few times before when Daddy had taken him hunting. But no one was outside. You only use guns outside. That's what daddy said. Why would Daddy's gun be in-- the boy inhaled sharply. The door swung open. The air didn't smell like that dish of dry flowers anymore. It smelled... different. The boy sniffed the air again, looking around through the small space under the bed for his mother's sneakers. It wasn't Daddy's gun. There are no animals in the house, he reassured himself confidently._

_Instead of the white sneakers, the saddle-brown boots appeared in the doorway again. Clicking steadily towards his bed. He shrunk into the shadows of the corner as best he could, Momma had told him to stay down there, he would. Suddenly, though, he felt frightened as the clicking heels approached him. A dark thought crossed his mind. If Momma had fallen, had Daddy pushed her? Guns... he outlined the thought in his head, shaking it away. No. That wouldn't happen. The bed creaked and sighed above him. The boots were seated, toes out, right in front of him. Daddy was sitting on the bed._

_Briefly, there was a small clicking sound that wasn't boots at all. Then that same, ear-crushing noise, all over again. The boy's eyes widened in terror, lit by the single shadow of a falling hand. He bunched himself sheepishly into the corner, mind racing. He didn't dare to move. For the first time since he'd heard his Momma fall, he noticed how truly painful it was to breathe. He tried to breath quieter, focusing his thoughts away from the unmoving hand and feet before him. One breath, slowly, in and out, it came, he winced as the dust it drew in clawed his throat. Another breath. And another. Now through his nose. The strange smell was gone, leaving that smothering, musty smell. His thoughts were stripped down to that. The smell of that crumbling flower, and the little pinecone that sat in the dish with it. This was some dream, he continued to think. Wait'll I wake up and tell them about it._

_It only seemed like minutes later when he heard a sound again, maybe it was longer. It was hard to tell time in dreams. He pressed his brain to remember what his Momma had been reading to him before he had fallen to sleep. He couldn't recall, the steady, rhythmic sound was stronger now. Clomp. Clomp. Clump. It stopped. He peered out from under the dusty bed again, his eyes felt strangely dry. His spine tingled. That had never happened before in a dream._

_The door swung open again, and a deep voice resonated throughout the lonely bedroom, "oh my god." This time they were black boots, standing firmly in the doorway. There was more of the heavy, leaden sound from the hallway. A second, matching pair of the boots appeared in the glow of the hallway light, "where's their little boy?"_

_It was just a dream. There was no need to go out and see the men, the boy thought again, frightened by the small spark of insecurity that lit his bowels. The floorboards creaked again, as one pair of the dull, heavy boots shifted. The ends of blue pants were visible now, "there," the bass voice boomed again, sounding sorrowful._

"_Come on out," the other voice called, "it's going to be okay."_

The boy breathed in something awful of a dust cloud, choking and coughing, embarassed he had shown himself. They must be police officers, he recognized, sizing up the ends of their blue pants. The thought of Daddy's gun squeezed its way back into his mind. Momma had told him not to come out, he realized, ashamed, as he dragged his gray, dust covered body from under the bed. His stomach lurched. Daddy was there, his light hair matted down to... He hadn't wanted to look, but had caught it in the corner of his eye. Regretfully, he turned his small face to the man, sprawled over his rumpled, blue bedcovers. His mouth dropped, his insides were on fire. His eyes were still dry.

_It was real now._

That smell. He looked around, bewildered still. It was all over this tree. It was everywhere. Feet still numb, Sawyer dragged himself around its trunk, looking for anything, a flower, a bud, anything that would produce the smell. There was nothing to be found. Blood rushed to his head, dizzying him as it mingled with rage. That smell was all over the place, and he couldn't find out _why._ He raised a fist, smashing it hard as he could against the trunk of the tree, as though he expected it to topple. Instead, it just sat, unmoving, unnoticing, uncaring for his blow. His vision blurred. _Must be gettin' sick again,_ he thought vaguely, slumping against the tree.

A strange stinging sensation tickled the corners of his glaring eyes. He blinked in frustration, snorting angrily as the alien feeling persisted, he was nowhere near the sea spray. Glancing down at his hand, he realized, uncaring, that it was bright red with blood, springing from several cuts that matched the pattern of tree's bark. The tingling in his eyes would not stop, he threw his hands down onto the sand, wincing as the same hand with which he had hit the tree came into contact with something hard, and rather sharp.

Blinking away the blur that continued to obscure his vision, he brushed sand away from the thing. The dark mass sat there, in the sand, fully uncovered. He couldn't see it, didn't want to. For once he was thankful for the wetness in his eyes. He looked up into the leafy green canopy of the tree again as it continued to lash wildly about, slave to the wind. He looked down again, ashamed of himself, squeezing away the hot, damp feeling in his eyes, casting them, in resignation, down to the dark object.

A pinecone.


	9. Chapter 9

It was hard to see through the rain. The ocean's gentle waves of the morning were gone, whipped into a frantic frothing by the downpour. Her clothes were soaked, it was freezing, and she knew, sitting in the slushy mess of sand, that her jeans were already filthy. The bubbles on the water's surface, created by each falling drop of rain, served to busy her wandering mind. They travelled a short distance before exploding, leaving little ringlets of the pure, white foam, soon to be destoryed as water continued to fall from the skies. They were all... _timebombs._ Things can only go so long without bursting.

Her breath caught in her throat. _God. It really is cold._ A shiver shook her body, leaving a sickening, metallic ache in her bones. She drew her knees to her chest, clasping her fingers around them weakly, struggling to lock them together, just to keep them from slipping away from each other. She turned her head slowly to the west. _Would the sun be going down by now?_ Kate had always wanted to walk into the sunset, away. _Just like Sawyer,_ she thought, still hugging her knees, _without the poetic beauty._ But now, there was no west, there were no directions, just a cold, white rain that enveloped everything, all around. There was no sun.

She flexed the tendons in her wrists, unlatching her fingers. _Where was he going anyway?_ A horrible, breathless feeling squeezed her heart, she choked a little, _should have followed him._ Her thoughts crept back to the day the raft had left. The day Sawyer had come back. She looked down at her boots, eyes falling along the lengths of black-soaked denim that covered her legs, _I don't need to go find him,_ she looked away from her feet and back to the bubbles in the ocean, her brows knitting together slightly, _it's not my problem._ Cheeks aching from the cold, she tensed her jaw to keep her teeth from clattering against each other, focusing her energies on keeping the noise from escaping her mouth again.

A sloppy, wet, sliding sound came from several feet away. _Which direction?_ She turned slightly, peeking over her shoulder. The sloshing steps came closer, tired, constricted breathing reached her ears amidst the many sounds of rain. She felt a black shadow hovering over her: it was like the nights she'd spent at home as a child, while her mother worked at the diner into the early hours of the morning, there was an ominous, black presence at the door, just as there was one waiting for her, standing over her now. A puff of white air wreathed her face, clouding her vision, warming her neck. She swiveled around to see whose breath had been cast upon her, though she already knew who was standing above her.

"Kate," said the breathless voice, as though reprimanding her for a twice-repeated offence, "your bandages are soaking."

Kate looked away from the hulking, soaking wet man, regarding the bubbles on the water seriously, "I feel fine," she said, somewhat haughtily, feeling color rise in her cheeks, despite the icy air.

"No, Kate," Jack said assertively, this time less breathless, "you're going to get sick if you spend much longer out here..." his voice trailed into a small sigh as he droninglly repeated the inevitable, "you have to come back to the hatch. It's warm down there, at least."

"I'm not cold," Kate lied simply, clenching her jaw again.

Jack made a noise that sounded strangely like a forced laugh, "Yes, you are," he insisted, resting a hand on her shoulder, "come on."

"I'm fine here," Kate said again, trying to control her voice, so as not to show the irritation she was feeling, "I like the rain."

"Maybe so," Jack said, sighing again, this time more deeply, "but I'm not letting you get sick," he paused, moving his hand down her arm to grip her wrist, "let's go."

Kate stood, indignantly wresting herself from his grasp, "okay," she said quietly, in resignation. _I'm not one much for the cold, anyway._

"He left," she said uncomfortably as they found their way, again, into the dripping canopy of the jungle.

"Wh-who?" Jack stuttered, clearly faking concern, looking round at her, "in this weather?"

"Sawyer left," Kate finished matter-of-factly, "before it started raining."

"He'll come back," Jack said, uncaring, mimicking Sawyer's words of the previous night, "he's just trying to get your attention."

Kate stared at Jack, stopping stiffly in her tracks as he continued to walk, "My what?" she asked, incredulous at his gaul.

"Your attention," Jack repeated, stopping and shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "He'll come back." He continued walking, as if his statement meant nothing.

"He doesn't care about--" Kate paused, suddenly a bright light shone through the foliage above them, dappling the sodden ground with bright spots and streams of light. She looked around in awe, this certainly hadn't happened in a while, "It's not raining anymore."

Jack said nothing, continuing to walk forward, head lowered. Kate reluctantly shifted her feet, following in his wake, unable to resist a glance over her shoulder. She couldn't see the beach, but she knew it was just beyond the fringe of trees, and she couldn't help but think of the ocean. The now calm water, and of, now that the rain had ceased, all those little timebombs exploding at once.

_Biting cold, maybe, but exhilarating, yes. She relished the feeling of the fast air rushing into her nose, her eyes, her mouth, brushing against her cheeks, laughing at the sting of the occasional thorned stone or pebble kicked into her face by her own wheels. The humming purr of the bike's motor soothed her, muffling the fading sounds of the city. The last car she'd passed had been quite a ways back, and now she was alone, speeding along the freezing country road, fearing, but loving, all the same, every little bump and jolt the bike made as its tires collided with the rugged lane's sharp rocks. She grinned a little, the flowing stream of cold air surrounding her helping to clean her mind, the grove of trees was just ahead._

_There was no home. There was no anything, just that dark little fringe of evergreens, and the warm pool of light that spilled from the miniscule spaces between their trunks. She braked the bike hastily as she pulled up to the outermost ring of trees, kicking the bike-stand down in elation as she leapt from the bike. Pushing branches out of her path, she fought through the trees and into the center of the grove. A warm, comforting wave of air tickled her chilled skin, as her eyes drank in the roaring fire in the clearing's center. She took a step towards it, grinning again._

"_Katie!" Came a cry from the opposite side of the fire._

_Kate grinned more broadly now, making her way around the fire, to where several teen boys, about her age, stood, "Tom," she answered, wrapping her arms around him._

"_Why'd you come down here?" Tom asked, surprised at her appearance, but still revelling in her presence._

_She looked up into the laughing face, studying it, "I came because..." her eyes fell, "I need to talk," she shuffled her feet awkwardly, the moment's elation forgotten._

_The other boys, standing behind the dark haired man, looked on, the fire's flames lighting their faces with strange patterns of light. One boy, with particularly long hair, sneered in Kate's direction. Kate turned away, looking back up at Tom, whilst gesturing absently at the large fire, as though it was nothing, "I knew you'd be out here, but what IS this?" she asked, laughingly._

_Tom's face took on a particularly smug, omniscient position, he turned his eyes back to the fire, dazed, as its shadows danced across the clearing, "It's a step forward," he said vaguely, blinking, stupefied, "a step out of the past."_

_Kate bit her lip, casting the fire a sideways glance, "what have you thrown in?"_

_The sneering boy stepped out of an especially large tree's shadow, arms crossed, he shook long, waving hair from his eyes, "some old photographs, memories. You know, things we don't need. Things we need to get past," he said unfalteringly, "and you are...?" The boy's voice rang with the injustice of having been removed from Tom._

_Kate looked away from the boy again, and back to Tom's questioning face, she nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, in his direction, "who's he?" she whispered._

"_Dylan," Tom said warily, "just a friend from highschool, I have English with him," Tom paused, "What did you need to talk about, Katie?"_

_Kate turned again, this time away from everyone, her cheeks aglow with the warmth of the fire, "It's..."_

"_Katie?" Concern marked Tom's cracking voice._

"_It's mom..." Kate whispered quietly, unaware of the other boys' prying eyes, "he..." she paused again, turning back to Tom, eyes brimming with tears, "he... made her bleed," Kate coughed, murmuring the last words in a hoarse, distrustful whisper._

"_Oh Katie," Tom breathed, leaning over to hold her, "what are you... going to..." he spoke over her shoulder, staring again into the fire, afraid to finish the question._

_The fear in Tom's voice momentarily paralyzed Kate. She couldn't move. Her idol, her rock, the only one who listened, he was... afraid? The deadly silence continued, the air filled with nothing but the dry, hungry crackle of the bonfire._

"_I'm going to leave," Kate said finally, tearfully._

"_Wh-Kate..." a sudden, unreadable emotion passed over Tom's face as he drew away from her, "You wouldn't."_

_Tom's sudden change from fear to certainty was jarring and unpleasant, Kate looked up at him again, "I have to," she answered, setting her eyes on him._

"_Katie," he chided softly, "you've said this before," he softened his voice a touch, "I know you won't."_

_Kate looked away, trying, vainly, to hide her tearstained face from the other boys. It had happened five years ago, when she was twelve. And then a year after that... and two years after that. She gnawed the inside of her cheek, feeling her eyes sting again as they began to water once more, "I'm going to do it this time."_

_A loud, invasive sound crushed the pleasant crackling of the fire, a boy, Dylan, had cleared his throat. Again, he stepped closer to Kate and Tom, shaking his long, caramel locks away from a high, fine forehead, "If you're quite finished," he began airily, "we were carrying on a discussion."_

_Tom cast the boy a warning glance, glaring at him up and down, "Dylan. Go. Now," he said commandingly._

_Kate turned her reddening eyes to the boy, coming level with a shoulder of his black, woolen jacket, she choked out a response, "I don't care."_

_The boy laughed, blue eyes widening in innocence, "Running away, are we?"_

"_Tom..." Kate began, turning her hurt, crying face to him once more, how could he befriend someone like this?_

"_Dylan," Tom said again, this time taking a step away from Kate, and towards the tall, angular boy._

"_Well, I don't think any of us here really cares," Dylan continued, shoving Tom and Kate's comments both aside, "There's really no use dumping your problems on a poor guy like Tom. If you want to run away, do it. If you don't, and you want your boyfriend to talk you out of it, then save yourself the trouble and leave now," he finished, smirking as he delivered the final words with a disgusting, cold efficiency._

"_Hey!" Tom nearly shouted, "Piss off!"_

"_Touchy, are we...?" the arrogant boy's voice taunted again._

"_What's your problem, why--"_

"_Who invited Miss Priss to the party?"_

_The voices were fading, as the lights of the fire already had. Kate's ears were once more filled with the purring of the bike's motor. In an instant she was turning back onto the country road. Loud, thudding footsteps came from the nearby grove, "Katie!" called the familiar voice, "Katie, STOP!"_

_There was no answer for that one, she thought, speeding out onto the jagged road again. She knew, in a matter of mere minutes, Tom would be speeding after her. It didn't matter, now, though. The world is full of jackasses. That was the only way to describe it, to describe him. Strangers can change so much, she thought, almost laughing at how ridiculous all this was. She continued to speed back down the little road, denim jacket flapping, the wind cold and harsh in her eyes, tearing angrily at her hair as it passed over her._

_Only one question remained unanswered now. Where to go?_

It was, indeed, much warmer in the hatch than it had been outside, she realized once they were inside. The sun was out now, in any event, it would be warm soon. Away from Jack's eyes, Kate shed her wet, sopping clothes, exchanging them for fresh, dry ones, not caring as the wet length of her hair immediately soaked the back of her tee shirt through and through.

"Sit down," Jack's voice came from behind her.

Kate whirled around, his dark figure stood propped in the doorway, arms crossed. _What a lovely, familiar, gesture._

"I have to change your bandages," Jack said frankly, pointing to her head.

Slowly, Kate sat on the bunkbed's edge, watching as Jack returned, a roll of gauze clutched in one hand. Removing the sodden bandages, he tore several new lengths of the thin, scratchy cloth, beginning to carefully weave them about her forehead, "you're going to stay down here the rest of the day," he said imperatively, "you shouldn't have even gone out to the beach this morning."

"I can't leave?" Kate asked, incredulous, "you can't make me stay."

Jack secured the final bandage, stepping away from Kate to survey his work, "You're not tired?" he asked, turning away from her.

A horrible feeling of fatigue swept over Kate. She was overwhelmed by the urge just to lie down on the pillows and fall into a slumber. Stammering uncomfortably, she managed to speak, "I... I'm tired," she admitted, ashamed of the human weakness, "but you have to promise..." her throat constricted painfully, "to wake me up if he comes back," she finished tensely, avoiding his eyes.

A hush fell over Jack, he seemed to busy himself straightening his shirt and collecting torn scraps of gauze. Looking down to her, abruptly, he caught her eyes as they lingered on the shock of gray hair along his jawline. Not, to his dismay, in admiration, but in a wary, misgiven way.

"Will you do that for me?" Kate asked again, turning her eyes down, ashamed at the blunt question.

"Yeah," Jack said shortly, shuffling out of the room without a parting glance in her direction.

In exhaustion, Kate flopped back against the pillows, turning over on them so she was face down in the cloth pillow casings. She always could have asked Jack, right? Could have asked him what Sawyer would never agree to. To protect her. He would have, moral obligations aside. He would have. She turned onto her side now, restlessly, but did he have any idea what it was like? Sawyer was no stranger to guilt. No stranger, most of all, to pain.

Her thoughts carried her away from that morning, away from Sawyer's abrupt leaving. It could have been hours, it could have been just seconds, but soon, she was gripped in the snare of sleep.

_A lovely bird. Jet black as night. It perched gracefully in the uppermost branches of the tree. It was not a fruit bearing tree. Kate had no business climbing it, yet still, she could not draw her eyes away from the large, stunning raven that sat, statuesquely ,on a thin, spidery branch. The sky above bore a deep purple message. Rain was coming, you could smell it, almost taste it, on the thin air._

_What was that? A peculiar clicking sound reached Kate's ears. It was faint, at first, but as she made her way past tree after tree, the sound grew louder and more pronounced. Tick, tick, click, click. It was almost like the sound of dripping water, if only more metallic, darker. More hollow. An empty sound, in whole, it left her feeling drained, alone as she travelled further into the jungle, searching for what produced the noise, unaware of which way she was walking._

_The sound grew louder and louder with each step, every bewildered turn she made drew her closer to it. A little gasp caught in her throat, there was the huge, black ship. The one from which they had harvested dynamite. But... something was out of place. It didn't look broken, at all, as she last remembered it. Rather, it sat up straight, balanced, and whole, standing proudly on its keel. A creaking of timbers interrupted the continued clicking sound that was now pulsating in her mind. The ship was... moving? Moving. Dragging itself along, tiredly, on dry land, sails limp as the great ship scooted itself forward._

_She looked up again, the taste of rain was gone, the sky's blackness was not the clouds. It was the night. Tick, tick, click click. A peculiar sound cracked the air, though, oddly, Kate felt as if she'd known it was coming all along. What was it? It howled and groaned in a high-pitched, urgent way. She remembered it, from the farm in Australia._

_Oh. The crowing of a rooster._

_But at this late hour? A vague, yet familiar thought struggled in her mind, didn't roosters only crow in the morning?_

_Tick, tick, click, click. She turned tensely away from the groaning ship, stumbling past another line of trees. The sound was huge here, resonating in every corner of the tiny clearing in the jungle. She looked down at her feet instinctively as she stumbled about, in search of the source. The ground was soft, dark, rich. What was she standing on? A garden, it was a garden. Sun's? But what were these rows and rows of queer, leafy green vegetables? She stumbled about, trying desperately to recognize their type. Suddenly, in the middle of the patch, she stopped, staring absently down to the plant nearest her feet. It was white. Bright, burning, purest white. In the midst of this sea of luscious green, it was white. Tick, tick, click, click._

Her eyes opened suddenly, chest heaving. She was still in here, in the hatch, on the bunk bed. It must be night, the only light was that which issued from the computer-room. Her heart was thundering. But why? The odd dream was slipping quickly away from her thoughts. The only thing that recurred, again and again, in her mind was _Sawyer._ She had to go.

It was night, no one would notice, she thought fervently, it was just a matter of quietly slipping past Jack at his post by the machine. She wasn't going to make the mistake of asking to be talked out of this again. She was going to run away, this time, and she was going to make it out, into the world, and away from everyone else, and no one, no one could chase her down and tell her no. She rubbed her bandaged head, quietly rising from the bed. Besides, it was different now, she had a reason to go.

Slinking past Jack had been terrifically easy, and now, as she stumbled back, after ten minutes or so of walking, out onto the pristine, white, night-shadowed beach, she couldn't help but wonder, again, about all those little bombs, and how they had exploded with no sound or fire. Snuffed out, as candles in a wind, without the slightest resistence.


	10. Chapter 10

_God damn it, that smell._

Suddenly it was dark. _How the hell long had he been sitting here?_ There was a terrible, tearing pain in his body, but he could not identify its point of origin. He looked down, groaning as a cramp seared through his neck. Catching himself from toppling over into the grainy sand, he leaned back against... _what the hell was that behind him, anyway?_ He turned his head, careful not to stretch his muscles at the wrong angle. The silver-brown bark of the tree came into his focus. _Oh yeah._

Immediately, uncaring for his neck now, he jerked his head downward to look down his arm. _Damn it._ Finally his eyes settled on his hand. Little bits of sand clung to it, sometimes in scattered sprinklings, sometimes in clumps and patches, all displaying a dreadful shade of scarlet. Trying not to wince, he opened his palm, glaring at it. Un-creasing the thick flesh allowed more sand to flood into the oddly-patterned cuts. Breathing in deeply, Sawyer leaned back, hitting his head hard on the tree trunk. Something was missing.

He lifted his hand, turning his eyes to the indention in the sand where it had been. More little red clumps of sand. It was gone. _The damn pinecone was gone._ Suddenly he was aware of the smell again. Acidic, but rainy and mild all at once. He leaned back again, letting his hand drop to its former resting place. If sorrow had a smell, it would smell like that stupid potpourri. It smelled good now. When he was a little boy, it had smelled-- he found himself shivering, almost retching.

Disgusted, he looked out across the beach. There was no sign he'd been followed. The tents and any other sign of the camp were completely out of sight. The ground beneath him was still damp, but now it was hard to see anything but the pale beach, the white stars, the sparkling gray ocean. Something called to him all the way across the gentle rolls of the waves. Whatever ocean that was, a pretty voice was calling his name across it. He rolled his eyes back. _It was beautiful. And it was saying his name._

Bewitched, he forced himself to stand, leaning against the tree for support, breathing deeply of the scented air. He opened his eyes. There it was again, whispering, dancing, twirling on the air. He rolled his head against the tree, unable to focus. The owner of that voice must be beautiful. His vision swam before him, unseeing, he staggered out onto the cool, damp shore, looking around. The musical calling of his name stopped. Looking down at his hands, angry at the bloodied one, he doubled over, catching himself by grabbing his own legs.

_Have to get away from the tree. Must be that damn smell._ It was intoxicating, he couldn't breathe, and it was making that awful burning feeling return to his eyes. _That's just the smell, doing that._ He struggled to make his way as far away from the tree as he could, before remembering he had left his pack under its sprawling branches. Snorting in irritation, he straightened himself up and found his way back under the tree, falling to his knees in front of the pack.

_Sawyer._

He froze, cringing, almost angry, as though he wanted nothing to do with the voice. _But damn, it was beautiful._ He shook his head, swinging his arms tiredly at his sides, grabbing the pack purposely with his injured hand. Grunting, he heaved it onto his shoulder, gritting his teeth as the rough leather strap bit into his raw skin. The voice sounded again, this time more clearly, its distant, ethereal properties gone. He righted himself, looking around, a hazy light was beginning to show, floating over the beach. The voice bit him, just as leather had done. It was edgier now, still beautiful, but tangible, close.

_I'm hallucinatin',_ he told himself, almost laughing as he looked around for the speaker, careful to maintain his posture and confidence. There was no one there. Shaking his head and scoffing at himself, allowing a small, dimpled smile, he turned to leave the tree's shelter. The golden haze that hovered over the sand was becoming brighter and more pronounced with each minute. Where to go now, where to go? He gazed out past the next tree, forehead creasing, he made it his goal to have entered the jungle by midday. Kicking sand off his feet, he began again, brushing away the sound of the voice as it called once more, bell-like, his name.

Kate walked swiftly, surely he must have heard her. She'd been calling his name all the way down the beach, he had to have heard. She looked down, feeling her eyelashes sweep against her cheeks. _He didn't care._ She looked up again, briefly, noting the sky's fading darkness, "Sawyer," she called again, trying to balance her voice. Not too loud, that would wake the people back at camp.

She thought she saw movement ahead, not more than a shadow, but she was sure it had been there. Excitedly, she found herself jogging lightly on the sand, her feet not so much as sinking past its crisp top layer. There was a huge tree ahead. Setting her eyes on it, she broke her jog into a run. Tossing the occasional glance at the sea, she almost wondered how, if a million bombs had gone off at once, the beach had not been burned. She shook her head in awe, directing her attention back to the tree, seeking out that running shadow, hopeful she would find it once more.

"_Hey man," the slimy, raking voice called, crashing into his ears, making him grimace and stop what he was doing, "how far have you gotten?"_

_Breathing heavily, a boy of about fifteen shook hair from his face, opening his mouth to speak, but seeming to think better of it, turned away. In his hands was an axe, its handle a deep red, accented with silver lettering. Its curved, dull head glinted in the setting sun as he raised it above his bleached head, "What?" he asked, annoyed, turning to the man who'd addressed him._

"_Boy, you gotta learn not to talk to your supervisors like that," the man paused, his great middle shaking with laughter, "Whoo-wee."_

_The blonde boy nearly threw the axe down on the log at his feet, not bothering to straighten the blow for a clear cut. It hit the wood with a hollow thud that seemed to give the boy satisfaction. He left it there, lodged in the wood, as he wiped his eyes with a bare arm, "What d'you need?" he asked, voice still ringing with anger at the interruption, "sir," he added begrudgingly._

_The man just laughed again, rumpled plaid shirt crinkling as he took a step towards the boy, "you really gotta learn some manners, and you need ta' cut the wood right. I can getcha' kicked out of school **and** this job."_

The boy jerked the broad, shining blade out of the log, raising it above his head again, "okay."

"What?" The man leered, revealing rows of jagged, lackluster, gray teeth.

"Yes sir," He said more loudly, bringing the axe down, this time with good aim and positioning, he stopped, peering up at the huge man, "can I sharpen this?"

"You just get back to work boy, I'll come check on you again at seven," he said gleefully, glancing at his watch, "you don't sneak off like I know you been doin'."

"Yes, sir," the boy said again, lifting the metal tool.

"Oh," the man added as an afterthought, "I saw you with that girl last night," his voice oozed at what he seemed to think was the hilarity of all this, "you can't be bringin' girls up to your room and doin' stuff," he chuckled greasily, raising a sweat stained arm to his forehead in mock worry, "I gave you that room. You gotta 'preciate and respect it."

The boy just nodded again, glaring savagely up at the man through his curtains of hair, distracted from his woodchopping.

"Gonna say somethin'?" The man asked expectantly.

"Yes, sir," the boy repeated for the third time, turning back to his work.

He continued to hack away at the wood busily until the man had completely disappeared from sight. He stopped, dropping the axe with a clattering noise. He peered around the side of the sizeable cabin, even grinning a little when he could detect no sign of his boss. Flicking sweat from his face again, he stole away from the lumber pile, and, eventually, away from the lumberyard itself. In the disappearing daylight, he sneaked stealthily into the nearby woods, forcing his eyes to pick out familiar landmarks. There was the large, broken branch, split in two and burned by the most recent storm. It must have been hit by lightning. And here was the beginning of the rocky, pebble-bank, only a little further. /i

He knew where he was going, now. At first, it had been a hopeless, pointless adventure, just to get away, but now he knew. The sun was up now, but it wasn't high enough in the sky to burn his back as it had yesterday. His hand stung now, though, and he was suddenly overcome with an unbearable urge to clean it off. There was water in his pack, he realized, tossing it down and turning around shortly, just to see if someone was... following him. He didn't want that, not a single bone or fiber in his body had any desire to be followed, and it would remain that way. Looking back around, he noticed the slow-moving ocean, its white-crested, softly moving waves. Another opportunity for punishment.

Leaving the pack where he'd dropped it, he made his way proudly to the very edge of the shore, so that the waves washed just over the laces of his grubby sneakers. Kneeling, he held his hands inches above the water, almost managing to ignore the sting of the sea spray on his cuts. He turned his hands over, surveying the intricate pattern of tree-bark slices on his palm. Suddenly, the next wave broke on the shore, wetting his fingertips. He withdrew his hands, digging his feet into the sand before plunging the bleeding one into the salty, slowly warming water, "AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGHHH."

An awful, tearing cry of pain found Kate's ears. _Sawyer._ She had given up on calling his name almost an hour ago, and now, as she stumbled into the shade of the big tree, she looked around for him frantically. Whatever it was, she could tell instantly, he had done it to himself. Her heart was in her mouth. _Had he really hurt himself?_ She bit into her lip hesitantly, breathing in to compose herself. It smelled oddly like gunpowder, or perhaps gasoline under the tree, and she wanted nothing more than to get away from it. _Why had she stopped here, anyway?_ She looked down, leaning a hand against the trunk. Breathes returning to normal something caught her eye; there were footprints in the sand. _Yes, he had been here._

Closely following the tracks, she gratefully left the shade and strange smells of the tree, reassuring herself as she went along, _he always did cry at nothing. It was probably nothing._ At last, she came upon a stop in the tracks. She halted, placing her hands on her hips, clicking her teeth together in frustration and puzzlement, they seemed to have gone into the water.

_He slid down to a sitting position on the pebble-shore, kicking off his shoes and allowing bare feet to fall into the dark, slowly moving stream. Today was the day. No more nightmares, nothing. The time was now. Stretching his arms, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, drawing out an aged, crumpled sheet of paper. An expression of extreme sadness and concern finding his face, he poured over the thing, carefully reading each and every penciled word._

_When he was done, he tucked the letter, very carefully, back into his pocket. Sighing, reached his hand into the other pocket, taking it out with a small, plastic black lighter and a box of cigarettes held tightly in his fingers. He flicked the paper lid of the carton open, plucking a cigarette from it. With a sort of meaningful slowness, he placed it between his lips, clicking the turn-wheel on the lighter to strike a flame. The small blue and orange flame sprang into life, illuminating his face. He lifted it to the end of the cigarette, feeling its warmth on his face in the cool night air. He closed the lighter, placing it back in his pocket as he inhaled of the cigarette's pungent, stale smoke. Feeling a great sense of relief as the smoke caressed, velvet-like the insides of his lungs, he breathed out._

_It didn't feel as good as usual, he realized, suddenly wanting to cough and vomit all at once. Dejectedly, he tapped ashes off the end of the cigarette, tossing it carelessly into the little brook. He could do it. Right now. What was left, right? He looked down into the water, unable to see his reflection, no matter how hard he tried. He was never going to find the guy. It wasn't going to change._

_Hardly able to contain himself, he leaned over the stream, lowering his face above its surface, staring into it, all the way through to the rough, flat-rocked bottom. **Now.** He plunged his face into its blackening depths, keeping his eyes open as they made contact with the icy water._

_He breathed out, watching in quiet fascination as the shining bubbles floated to the surface of the shallow river. Now he needed to breathe back in. Wrinkling his brow, he opened his mouth, slowly drawing water in. An unbelievable sense of self-hatred filled him at the terror that stabbed at his heart as his lungs began to wet. He banished it, feeling his hands relax as his lungs tightened._

_A terrific, vice-like grip seized his neck and the collar of his shirt, dragging him out of the water as colored stars erupted before his eyes._

"_I knew you was gonna' try that 'ventually. You cain't do that, boy. You jus' lost yerself a job," the voice sneered._

_And then, darkness._

Kate shook her head, looking away from the place where the now-buried tracks had been. They didn't go into the water, she noticed with relief. _So he didn't drown._ They turned away, and went in a diagonal line away from the sea, into the jungle. _Great._ Heart throbbing all over again, she found herself running, not jogging, along the line of the tracks. _You know what? I don't care if you hate me,_ she thought, focusing eyes forward, _I am NOT letting you run off into the woods to die._ She ran on, not even knowing if that's what he meant to do. It didn't matter, if there was a chance, she should be worried.

There was the outer fringe of the jungle trees. He found himself smiling. It was so close, he realized, breaking through the dark green of it, stepping into the humid air inside the cage of brush. Only a little ways, no more than an hour, and he would be there. He sent his eyes toward the large, sheer, vine-covered cliff. He had been here before, been here to open that silver case. _Kate's_ silver case. His heart stopped for a minute, it was the first time he'd thought of her all day. Ashamed of himself for _forgetting her_, he continued on his way through the deep green vegetation with clumsy steps, trying, in spite of himself, to shake her from his thoughts. He stared again at the bluff. They were never going to get off this place.

Kate broke the cover of the trees now, out of breath. She wondered, vainly, if Sawyer wanted to be found, the way she had when she'd run away. _Probably not._ She didn't care, he was going to hurt himself, she could _feel_ it. As she dashed through the trees, she straightened the bandage on her head, looking around for any sign of him.

Presently, Sawyer found himself stumbling at the base of the cliff, trying to secure his feet on the slippery, mossy rocks at its foot. _Just get to the top. You can clear your head there._ As he scrambled up the slope, he found it increasingly hard to focus, and was incredibly thankful when the ground finally leveled out. Somewhat.

_She looked uncomfortably up at him, not wanting to speak. First he says he doesn't give a damn, that he won't help her. And now, he's standing out here, right beside her. She averted her eyes, looking out at the ocean instead, not wanting to acknowledge his presence. Ignoring him would work just fine._

_Sawyer seemed to be thinking along the same lines, he, too, was staring out at the vast, windswept blue. He himself was unsure of why he was standing there. Was it the words that so often caught in his throat? They'd been uncomfortable around each other lately. If he meant to say something, he realized, he ought to do it fast. It was only a matter of time before Jack sent for him, and had him brought back to the hatch. There was no way to fight that. Besides, he was still getting dizzy spells every now and then. Or maybe he was here to tell her what he could not when she had asked the favor of him. Just a simple favor. **Take care of me.** He turned his head, repulsed, not only at himself, but at her, too. She knew him better than that. And what was with her trying to make him face himself? He couldn't take care of anything. She knew that._

"_You aren't supposed to be out here," Kate said finally, measuring her words._

"_I know," Sawyer answered slowly, keeping his voice steady, "I needed some air."_

"_Oh," Kate said, shaking her head in disapproval, "Jack'll be mad."_

_Sawyer snorted sarcastically, "Yes, and...?" he paused, wondering why the hell she was avoiding exactly what he knew was on both of their minds, "I really couldn't give less of a damn about the doctor."_

"_Right," Kate said, thinking, as she spoke, of Jack, "well, I could."_

_Sawyer's heart sank for an instant, but only just. He stopped himself before the feeling could take over, killing it before it could invade his body, "Yeah, I know," he said simply, "You hate me now, Freckles?" It sounded like an awfully stupid question, now that he'd said it. Of course she'd say, 'yes'. Or probably nothing at all. He looked down at the top of her head._

_She let out a tiny hissing noise from between her teeth, "Yeah, whatever," she said, not really wanting to utter the words, but still feeling betrayed by how he'd answered her need for a favor, "You know..." she began, almost afraid to say more. This would spoil something, for sure._

"_What?" He asked, dragging the word out with an over exaggerated sigh._

"_I really do need help," she said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke, the words lifting a weight off her shoulders, "and if you want to know why I..." her voice had risen to a shrill sort of squeal, "If you want to know why I care about Jack and not--" she stopped, tripping on the words. **How can I say that? It's not true.** She rested her face in her hands, careful that he would not see the gesture from his vantage point. She cared about both of them._

"_Yeah," he said, much better at disguising the hurt in his voice than she, "I know why you don't care about me," he said, almost as though he was speaking to himself, "I'm just that old bastard who ruins everything you do with the doctor," he began, trying to think of what to say next. What would insult her most?_

_Kate said nothing. She just sat, head in her hands. Never should have asked him to begin with, she thought with a pang. She had known, she admitted reluctantly, she had known all along that he would turn her away. However much she'd cared all this time, he hadn't. It was plain to see. It almost insulted her. She could read him so well, but somehow she couldn't really tell what he was thinking when it came to opinions of **her.**_

"_Whatever," he laughed, repeating her, "you don't want help from me anyway," he turned, setting off down the beach, "I'm goin' back to the hatch."_

"_Alright," Kate called, struggling to end her silence, gathering the courage to stand, "Just want you to know, Sawyer..."_

_He didn't stop walking. He just kept moving, seeming not to notice her. She knew better. He was listening._

"_Just want you to know that one day you'll want the company," she stepped forward bravely, thinking that maybe, maybe somehow this would change his mind, "you killed a man. You can't just be alone with your guilt." The words sounded aimless, idiotic. This was going nowhere._

_He didn't turn his head, but as Kate suspected, he had heard. At first, in a split-second, the words had stung him, boring a little hole in the skin of his chest, dangerously close to his heart. He felt weak. Yeah, he'd killed a man. He scowled. Didn't mean he had to protect her. Of all people, she could take care of herself. Hunching over against a slight breeze, he controlled the urge to look back over his shoulder at her. That would just show that he cared._

Finally, he was here. He looked out across the edge of the cliff, stepping toward it. He looked down its flat face,_ it was a long way down._ He slouched into a sitting position, holding onto one of the vines that hung from the jungle's canopy of green leaves. Allowing his legs to dangle loosely off the edge of the cliff, he managed a little smile as the jagged ledge cut into his thighs. For the first time in a while, pain felt good again. It had become a routine, he realized distractedly, finding his hand straying to his pocket. Before he could stop himself, his hand had closed around the paper. He knew it by heart, but still, he removed it from the recesses of his jeans, unfolding it, coveting it, reading it over and over as he had always done. It would work out this time. They weren't getting off this island, so what was the use? There was no filthy supervisor to stop him.

He stood again, still clutching the slippery vine. Wholly unaware of the skittering sounds of feet on the mossy rocks he had just climbed, he felt his hand letting go of the vine. But then it sounded again, that voice.

"Sawyer!"


	11. Chapter 11

Staggering backwards from the edge of the cliff, Sawyer stumbled and fell to his knees, looking about for who had called his name, though he already knew. Shins stinging from the fall, he looked around at the hand with which he'd held the vine. It was stained a vivid shade of green. Glaring angrily at it, he looked back up to Kate, who was standing over him with a concerned look of confusion in her eyes. She was going to say something, he could tell, but nearly ten minutes later, when his chest had stopped heaving, and she was still staring, he jerked himself to his feet, "What?" He spat contemptuously. It had been ruined. Again.

But she just stood, continuing to study him, mouth hanging open slightly as her lower jaw began to shake, almost imperceptibly. Kate tried disjointedly to understand what exactly it was he was doing here. _Had he...? Surely he wouldn't do that._ She remembered the cry from that morning.

"Uh..." she began, finding her voice at last, stomach squirming, unsure of what to say to him.

"Go away." He growled harshly, but in such a low tone that it provided a frightening contrast to the way in which he'd spoken the words.

She just kept staring, aghast. His face was filled with a rage she'd never seen in him before. Of all the angry looks she had received from him, this was the most hateful, "Sawyer..." she began calmly, trying to stop her voice from erupting into a baffled shriek, as she carefully stepped toward him.

Sawyer shook his head, cracking his spine in a purposely irritating gesture, narrowing his glare and pointing it to the ground. What did this mean? What had she just caught him tryin' to do? He breathed out tensely, feeling a sudden rush of embarassment at the realization that the voice he had ventured to call beautiful was Kate's. He coughed, discarding the thought, "why did you follow me?" he asked, resisting the urge to tell her once more to go. He didn't want her to, now that she was here.

"I..." Kate glanced back and forth, at a loss for an answer that would please him. She gazed uneasily at his discolored skin, and his still bloodied hand, confused. "I wanted to know where you were going." She glanced back at him momentarily, afraid of how he must be looking at her, "I was curious." On the way here, she had not expected to be greeted like this. Nearly laughing at the silly fantasy she'd had about being kissed and hugged and welcomed, she found herself turning away. Her throat was on fire.

Sawyer groaned quietly and forced himself to stand, mind racing for an answer that would keep her from going, "Yeah, well don't get too curious," he said, limiting his voice to that same, abrasive bark. She didn't turn. Swallowing, he called again, trying to throw laughter into his words, but still unable to carry them away from his distraught state of mind, "I wouldn't worry about me too much, Freckles."

She stopped, turning and looking over her shoulder, afraid to lie, afraid, for the first time ever, to hurt him. "What were you doing out here, Sawyer?"

He was indignant now, she had seen his weakness, but surely there was a way to hide it, "Thinkin'." he said fiercely, standing his ground.

Almost accidentally, Kate made a skeptical little snort, "Why were you standing on the edge of a cliff?" She looked at him seriously now, raising her hands to her hips, where they rested.

Sawyer looked again at her, feeling ill. She looked absurdly like his mother, standing there with her hands like that. He shivered as the thought crossed his mind, managing to use it to fuel his anger, "I slipped."

"Okay," Kate said, lowering her hands, seeming to believe him for a moment. "Don't hurt yourself, Sawyer."

_So she knew._ His temper rose, "Now why would I do that?" he asked, feeling his face grow hot as he took several steps in her direction, suddenly intrigued by the question, "I thought you didn't care about me, girl." he gritted.

Kate stepped away from him, angry now herself, startled as she backed into a tall, irregularly thin tree trunk that grew from the side of the bluff that met the upper level of the jungle floor, "Did I say I did?" She asked boldly, returning his stare as he continued to approach her. She looked around for a way out, he wouldn't hurt her, she knew him better than that, but still, she was fearful of him now. Afraid of his vengeful nature.

He stopped a few inches short of her, looking straight down into her face, "Don't follow me again. Go back." Now he didn't care. She had screwed it up, as usual. It was all her fault, and now he wanted her gone. As soon as she had left the cliff, he was going to finish what he'd started.

"Okay," Kate said again, lowering her eyes as she slipped nimbly away from him, "but... you have to come with me." She didn't care now, either, it didn't matter if her hints were everything but subtle. He had been trying to kill himself. Kate's natural compassion was alight, her eyes and face glowing in the heat they were both producing. He couldn't give up now, she thought faintly of the letter. If Sawyer gave up... she shook her head, looking up at him expectantly again, wanting an answer, dreading what she knew he would say.

"No," he breathed, confirming her fears, "leave." He turned, still glaring, to walk down the side of the cliff he'd come up.

_It was uncannily like when Sayid had spoken to him days ago. But now he was being scrutinized by cold green eyes. They were like Kate's, he thought with amusement, lying there as he stared across the room at her, as he so often had at Kate. But this woman was different. She was taller, more worn. Her hair was a shade of faded gold, waving roughly, unlike Kate's smooth, dark locks. Her eyes were not warm, but, as he had previously noted, cold, almost heartless. The subtle creases of her face were hard to notice in the light, but she was older, and she was obviously thinking, despite the careless expression her face wore._

_Her threadbare clothing was a nondescript hue of tan. Her arms looked sunburned. She was scrawny, he could tell, by the set of her collar bone, and her boney, sharp wrists. Her small, pale lips were moving. He suddenly felt sick with himself -- he'd been comparing her to Kate. To Kate. Was he nuts? But what was she saying? He was sure it didn't matter. He rolled over onto his side, turning away from Libby. She had been there when he'd awoken, and her presence had, instead of adding something to the room, made it feel as though he had lost something. _

"_Sawyer," she said again in the low, soothing voice. She sounded a little like she'd been a smoker._

_He turned over now, he could hear her this time, "What?" He grumbled, perturbed. Was he allowed to sleep? It was preposterous, clearly he wasn't happy about something, so why was she pestering him? "Lemme 'lone," he murmured, only half-forming the words._

"_Hey," she said, her lips twisting into a solemn little smile, "There's something wrong.You need to talk it out."_

_God, it was annoying, the way she talked to him. He rolled over to face her again, looking into those curious, understanding eyes. Oh yeah, he realized in an instant, she's a head doctor. He rolled his eyes, making sure she would notice, before sitting up on the pillows and fluffing his blankets with a flourish to air them out. He shot her a final glare before flopping back down. That negative feeling was striking him again. _

"_Kate, okay, that's a good place to start," Libby said, almost tauntingly, raising her thin eybrows. She just waited for his response, biting her tongue, knowing she'd struck a nerve._

_Irately, Sawyer sat bolt upright again, flicking hair from his eyes, "What?" he asked incredulously, trying to sound as defensive as possible._

"_Oh come on," Libby chided, trying to coax something out of him, it seemed, "we all know how you act around her."_

_He couldn't bear to look at her, he realized, removing a pillow from beneath his head to cover his face with. She looked just how he felt; Tired, stretched, and thin. The soft, hot fabric smothered him, sucking into his mouth everytime he opened it for breath, "Ugh!" He exclaimed aloud, cursing openly as he cast the pillow aside, sitting up again to find her still watching him, and, to make matters worse, looking slightly entertained, but, oddly, a little sad, too, "Look, I don't know what the hell you want from me--"_

"_I want to help," Libby said, straightening her face out in an instant, "I like to help people." Her features softened, leaving a serene smile._

_There had to be a catch. He eyed her suspiciously. No one helped him out unless they had a reason-- they wanted some of his stuff, they needed a gun. And how did she know he cared about Kate? He didn't, right? And it wasn't his problem, either. She was in love with Jack. Distractedly, he continued to glare in Libby's direction, unknowingly allowing his eyes to betray his thoughts._

"_Did you fight?" Libby continued to pry, searching him for any sign of an answer._

_He just continued to glower at her. Libby did not care. She wanted something, so therefore, she couldn't care. "Go away." He said at last, destroying the quiet of the room, wanting the empty feeling her presence created to go away._

"_Should I get Jack?" Libby asked, still scanning him with her eyes, "I mean, do you want to talk this out with him?"_

_Sawyer was incredibly angry now. She was just TRYING to force answers out of him at this point. "No," he said gruffly, melting down onto the pillows again._

_Libby stood from her seat on the couch, looking around briskly, as though she were anticipating something. Her face fell suddenly, and she looked directly back to Sawyer. She drew something from behind her back, looking secretive, but also extremely sympathetic, all at once. He felt his heart stop, the blood running through him grew cold. Held between two of her thin, spider-like fingers was a crumpled, folded piece of paper, slightly off-white from age, "I read it," she said, eyes wide._

_In a flash, Sawyer was on his feet. He sprang to where she stood, feeling a vein throbbing in his forehead, "Give it to me." he said dangerously, snatching sloppily for the paper, relieved when he easily retrieved it. He stuffed it rabidly into his pocket, nearly frothing at the mouth, "get out."_

_But the woman just stood there, just like a psychiatrist he had once known, staring up at him with the wide, thoughtful eyes. They looked less harsh now. Calmly, she spoke, "I think I've figured out what happened to... you," she started, "... and I really don't think..."_

_Sawyer felt victorious, it was clear by her ill-chosen sentence starters that she had no idea what he'd written the letter for, or what he planned to do once they left this god-forsaken-hell-hole. He wasn't about to tell her, either._

_Libby looked down, conceding. She looked ready to walk away when she glanced up again, picking her way carefully about her next words, "Being angry isn't making things any better for you," she paused, "this will stay with you forever. There are ways to deal with--"_

"_Shut up," Sawyer growled, staring at her with nothing but hate in his heart, "go."_

Talkin' to him. Pretending she cared. What did she know? He glared around again to make sure Kate wasn't following him like she had the previous night and morning. He was about half a mile away from the bluff now -- but he'd go back, as soon as he knew she wasn't going to be anywhere near the place. In fact, she was probably still sitting on the edge like she had been when he'd left, waiting for him to come back. He stopped now, surrounded by the towering, thin-trunked trees on all sides. _Crack._ His heart surged. What was the sound? Irritated, he coughed to rid himself of the feeling in his chest. And what was that? Anger...?

"Come out Kate," he growled in a low tone, trying to sound exasperated, but, as he'd realized, the quickening of his heartbeat was not one of anger -- it was one of excitement, and also a strange feeling he couldn't label.

A twig cracked again, and Kate nearly fell out of the space between two trees, looking disheveled and embarrassed. She felt her palms grow sticky, reminded of, just a few days ago, her picking Locke out of the bushes, "Sorry," she mumbled softly.

"Why're you followin' me, Freckles?" He asked, not particularly caring for the answer he would get.

"I..." she moved her jaw back and forth, looking for an answer. Breathing out, and setting her eyes hard on him, she began to speak slowly, "I'm worried about you." A horrid, burning-sick feeling began to dissolve her stomach. She twitched her eyebrows, "I know what you were doing... and..."

"So what?" he croaked, feeling slightly deflated.

She swallowed heavily, not wanting to say anything, but feeling she had to, "Why would you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked coarsely.

"Sawyer..." she said delicately, "Sawyer..." she took a step away from the trees, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm sorry." Her eyes were shining suddenly.

He felt as though someone was twisting a knife inside him, he wanted to run, to throw up, anything. Tightening his stomach muscles, he turned to her, wanting to scream in horror at the sight of her wet eyes, "Yeah," he said hoarsely.

She looked away. _She mustn't have heard._ "Come back to the camp."

"No," Sawyer said loudly, beginning to walk again, "Ain't goin' anywhere." He wanted to throw up again, now. He did want to go back, but he couldn't validate her. She couldn't be right.

"Sawyer," she said again, voice failing, "Why not?"

"I ain't goin' back," he said steadily, afraid to turn around to see her face once more.

"Okay," Kate said, her voice suddenly flat again, "Back to the cliff then. Together."

He was silent for a moment, seeming to consider, "Alright, sweetcheeks," he said, thrusting a tone of amusement into his voice. He whirled around, "But after tonight, you're goin' back. And you're gonna leave me to whatever I want," his eyes glittered maliciously -- this was more important than anything. _Even her._

She nodded, to his surprise, "Okay. Let's go." She held a thin arm out to him, tilting her head back in the direction of the cliff.

He took it with his own green-stained hand, looking at her carefully. A thought flitted into his brain. She really _is_ beautiful. He allowed himself a crooked smile. _She had said sorry._ Allowing her to take his wrist, he walked with her, back to the tall, jagged cliff. Back to his plans, though now, they were quite forgotten.

"What happened to your hands?" she asked curiously as she held his arm.

"Tch," Sawyer almost laughed, "war wounds."

"_So..." The man let out a long sigh, raising a hand to his head, "what did you do this time?"_

_That had done it. Sawyer sat up, almost screaming, "'Scuse me, doctor?"_

"_Hey," the tall, dark-haired man started, eyes flaming, "you come back down here... looking pissed. I know you were talking to Kate, you expect me to ignore it every time you do this?"_

"_I didn't do ANYTHING to your girlfriend," Sawyer rumbled, "And you ain't my psychiatrist." The silent, staring deadlock they'd entered (as usual) had been broken with this sudden eruption. He sighed in frustration. Libby must have sent for him after he'd scared her off. He could hardly keep himself from jumping to his feet. What was her problem, anyway?_

"_Look Sawyer," Jack said, striding across the room to lean over Sawyer's bedridden body, "leave Kate alone."_

_Sawyer spluttered, confused, "What? Look, Hoss, I don't care about Kate," he paused for a moment after the words, swallowing briefly and continuing, though he wanted to do anything but, "I don't know about you, but--"_

"_I've been putting up with you, ripping her up, for god knows how long," Jack said sharply, returning the glare._

_Sawyer flung himself from the bed, lunging at Jack, "I didn't do a goddamn thing. Shut the fck up, and leave me alone!" he roared._

"_No." Jack said calmly, leaping back._

"_Yeah, get out!" Sawyer felt exhausted, he was sweating profusely. This was the third time today he'd argued with someone._

"_She told me," Jack's eyes sparkled._

"_What?" Sawyer gritted, apprehensive._

"_That you argued," Jack said slowly, seeming not to understand the trace of fear on Sawyer's face, "where did you think I just was?"_

_Sawyer wanted to laugh suddenly, inappropriately. An overwhelming sense of relief captured him. She hadn't asked Jack the favor. He looked down, thinking. What did that mean? Could he still tell her yes? "Yeah, whatever," Sawyer said, shrugging, still glaring at Jack._

_Jack threw his arms out to his sides, turning to leave, "I'm going to the beach," he said clearly, as though he could not resist a parting shot._

"_Yeah, don't hurt her feelings, it's the end of the month," Sawyer muttered, still angry at her for the words she had left him with... he had left her with. Her efforts to make him realize things about himself were maddening. He hated to admit it, but they weren't entirely worthless, either._

_Jack stopped, shaking his head, "you just don't get it, do you? Do you have any idea how to act around other people?" He didn't turn, but continued to speak, "You know what Sawyer? I get it--"_

"_You don't even know the half of it," Sawyer barked through his teeth._

_Jack ignored him, walking to the door, "I get it Sawyer. She doesn't care about you, so you treat her like this."_

"_What'd she tell you?" Sawyer yelled after Jack, uncaring as Locke and Libby's shocked faces appeared in the doorway Jack had just exited, "What'd she tell you!"_

_What had she said to Jack to make him say that stuff, anyway?_ He stared suspiciously after Kate as she led the way back to the cliff. What was she expecting to happen back there, anyway? Kate was gathering long, dry sticks as she walked, picking out those already dried from the previous day's rain, "Jack's probably looking for me," she called back in amusement.

Sawyer felt as though he'd been slapped, but couldn't resist responding to the 'worthless' feeling the mention of Jack's name produced, "Ain't he the perfect lover-boy?"

He'd expected Kate to shoot him an injured glance, but instead she just laughed aloud, "No."

When the cliff came back into view, the daylight was dwindling. Jogging ahead of her, he stepped onto the first of the rocks at its foot, "you need a hand, Freckles?" He chuckled shortly, feeling disturbed when he looked up to the cliff's top.

She was standing there, a few feet away from the rocks, a bundle of dry, long twigs in her arms, "Yeah," she said, sounding a little tired.

He reached out, taking several of the sticks from her. He looked away, swallowing, when his fingers brushed the length of her arm. Kate looked up at him, "going up?"

The top of the bluff was colder than the jungle floor, and as the last light of the day disappeared, it grew colder. Ridiculously, staring at the careless array of sticks, Kate realized they had no way to light a fire, "Do you have a lighter on you?"

"No," Sawyer said regretfully, suddenly feeling ravenous, "but I have food."

"What?" Kate asked brightly, neither of the two had eaten that day.

"Granola bars, some canned stuff," Sawyer said, his words sounding foolish, "Sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't really think before I--"

"Nah, it's fine," Kate said, waving it away and plopping down beside the pile of sticks, deftly catching the granola bar he tossed to her.

"So..." she said uncomfortably as they began to eat the meager meal, sounding eerily like Jack. It was dark, Sawyer couldn't really make out her pale features, but it was clear she was pondering something, staring deeply at him across the would-be fire.

"What?" Sawyer asked, looking out over the cliff, suddenly remembering again why he'd come here.

"It's cold," Kate said quietly.

"Then go back," Sawyer said emotionlessly, fixing his eyes on her, wanting, no, needing an answer.

"I can manage," Kate said rebelliously, returning his stare.

He looked away from her, avoiding looking over the cliff again, "then you can come over here," he said, unsure of what her reaction would be.

"Okay," Kate said, nodding, a broken smile showing on her face. Gracefully, she stood and tip-toed around the little pile of wood. He found himself staring hopelessly, admiring each of her steps, but in an instant, it had stopped-- she was seated beside him.

So they sat, side by side, afraid to look at one another. It was awkward, indeed, and he was hesitant to reach out and wrap his arms around her. But at last, he did; it was different now. She had said sorry-- he had honestly tried. He rested his chin over her shoulder, staring at the space in the air that should have been lit with the warm light of the fire, feeling oddly relaxed. She leaned her own head back onto his shoulder, whispering something he couldn't quite discern.

"Hm?" he asked, trying to sound, despite their embrace, disinterested.

"Can we talk?" She asked, sounding slightly tearful again.

"_Now James," came that belittling voice again, wearing away at him. Patronizing him, "Now James I can't help you if you won't talk to me."_

_He rubbed a small hand over his eyes. They were still dry. They had been for weeks since he'd been sent away to live with his uncle. His old uncle, his old uncle whose house didn't smell of potpourri. He suspected at some point they would be dry no longer, but he wasn't going to let that happen. Not now. He scratched at his head, pulling nervously at the soft, shining locks of blond hair._

"_James," the woman said, batting his hand away from his head with a round hand, "don't hurt yourself!"_

_He scowled up at her, clenching his small teeth, narrowing his eyes, hoping against hope that he was intimidating her. Instead of screaming or leaving, the woman just continued to look him over. She had short-cropped, dull, raven-colored hair, coming to her chin in small, sharp waves. Her face was old and exhausted-- even a little angry. Her skin was pale, the color of blank paper, no more, no less, and her lips, a bloody shade of red (thanks to waxy lipstick) were pursed in frustration. Her pudgy face twitched, chilling blue eyes wandering away from him for a moment, "so," she said, sounding a little sickened with him, "do you want to talk about your parents?"_

_She wasn't like the other therapists he'd talked to. She didn't cry when he pulled his hair and hit himself. She didn't falter when he described, in every heartless detail, what had happened to his parents. She didn't try to hug him, or speak to him in a coddling voice. He should have liked her for it, but she was so... his thoughts trailed off, "James," she said sharply._

"_No," he sulked, leaning back in the blue armchair in which he sat. Its upholstery matching the black-haired woman's dark navy blazer. The jacket's bronze and gold buttons glinted in the buzzing fluorescent lights as she shifted in her own chair, leaning towards him a little._

"_You should," she croaked, "it will help."_

_He didn't answer her-- no, instead he stared around the little white office in wonder. How had this wretched woman gotten so many certificates? They were all over the walls, sparkling with fancy writing and colors, framed in ornate silver backings. She wasn't helping him, so how was it that she had received all this?_

"_James," the woman said patiently, voice still lacking the sweet, reassuring qualities of most women in her line of work._

_He couldn't exercise any control over the woman. He could hit himself, and she would just calmly grab his wrist and tell him 'no'. He could scream and she would take it full in the face. So he stood, allowing his small legs to carry him to the office's door. The woman said nothing, she just followed him, waiting, with her eyes, hands clasped in her lap. He wrapped his fingers around the metal door handle, pressing it down, and pushing the heavy door open. He was unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder as he stepped through the threshold. She was watching, but her lips were pursed again, and she said nothing._

"_Your uncle will bring you back tomorrow," she said, sighing as she turned to clear her desk of several manilla folders, stuffed with papers, "you can't stop that. No matter how stubborn you try to be. You see, James, there are lots of things we can't stop from happening." Her eyes flashed. He was thrilled. So he could make this woman tick! She wedged the folders into a black Attache case, "but James," she sighed, her voice returning to its regular calm, "you can't push help away from you," she seemed to know he was not listening, and she was right in that respect. She seemed to be speaking to herself, "one day it'll catch up with you."_

Sawyer exhaled heavily, still resting his chin on her shoulder. They could talk. It would stop all this from catching up with him, if only for a few more hours, "okay," he breathed over her shoulder, voice changing to a resigned whisper, "about what?"


	12. Chapter 12

It was still freezing, but they were not touching. He had broken away from her and traversed the pile of dry sticks, and now he was crouching there, looking across at her. It was too dark to see Kate's face, but he knew the worry that would no doubt be upon it. His browned arms hung from where they were propped on his knees. He let out a slow, measured breath through his nose.

She blinked slowly, looking away from him, hair cascading over her left shoulder, her legs stretched out to the side. She traced a pattern in the thin layer of dirt on the rocky cliff, clicking her tongue. She looked up again at the sound of his breath, more worried than before. Chewing her lower lip, she scanned his face for a breach in his defenses, "Well," she murmured softly, turning her head so that the white light of the moon filtering through the trees cast a delicate filigree of shadows on her cheeks.

He couldn't take his eyes off her; as with so many things, he was angry and pleased, all at once. They hadn't exactly started the conversation well. 'You're suicidal and you need help' really isn't the greatest way to begin a 'little talk'. He had left her there in the cold, and now he regretted it-- she was shaking like a dead leaf, growing paler by the minute. She would surely catch cold. He tossed his hair, wiggling his toes inside his sneakers. He would catch cold, too. At least they would suffer together. He glanced down so she would not read the worry in his eyes.

"Well," she said again, gently, "is there anything you want to... talk about?"

He scoffed, looking scornfully at her, "well hell Freckles," he said, finding it hard to speak considering the circumstances, "you suggested it." He was disturbed by how much she sounded like all those damn psychiatrists. She even sounded like the blonde woman.

"Nnhh," she made a soft groaning noise, swinging her legs forward, dragging them over the sticks with an unceremonious raking, clattering sound. She drew her legs in to her chest, as she so often sat, patting her jeans off to rid them of the fine, beige cliff silt. She turned her shadow-laced face up again, resting her chin in the crook between her knees. Her eyes widened, she lifted her hands, fanning her fingers in front of her, "we're the same."

He seemed to consider for a moment before chortling loudly, shaking himself, "Really?"

Kate was not swayed. She just rolled her eyes, dropping her hands, "Yes, we are," she grew silent, "do you remember... the game?"

He laughed again, this time hollowly, mirthlessly, "well, girl, _I never_," he said, drawing out the last two words.

"Yeah," Kate murmured, "the same."

Sawyer twitched his shoulders, rolling his head back, _god damn it, why wouldn't she just stop saying that?_ "I can think of a hell of a lot of things that ain't at all the same," he finished dryly, still staring her down.

"I can think of a hell of a lot that are," Kate said, intent, "but you don't want the list."

"You made one?" he shot back, unsmiling.

She sighed. "When I was a kid..." her voice faded into a miniscule choking noise, she wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to avoid looking up again. Her lower lip shook tremulously, and her voice was broken when she spoke again, "My dad... he left when I was litte, he--" she was strangling on the words, "he left and... there was my stepdad," she stopped tentatively, forehead on her knees.

Suddenly, at the start of her actions, he wanted to scream. _He wanted to slap her._ In that instant, watching her cry, cry and say things of her past, he felt as though he was being murdered. Killed in the most gruesome, heartless way. Anything to make her stop. He could hit her. He could do _anything_ now to make her stop. He had never seen this before. He had heard it once, in the hatch, while he had feigned sleep, but he had never seen this, and it was killing him.

"Kate!" he yelled hoarsely, voice scraping at the night. No answer, she just sat there, crying onto her knees, spilling her guts all over the lonely, moonlit rock, "Kate!" he nearly screamed, "Stop!"

A final, dying sob ripped in her throat, she curled up even tighter, each breath a hot, sweaty effort. "I'm... I'm sorry," she stammered, face still buried, "W-we were talking about you, and I..."

"No," Sawyer answered, finally returning his voice to a normal volume, rising to his feet. He looked over his shoulder, revolted, at the cliff. That was why he'd come here, and, he realized with a jolt, that was still why he was here. But now, now he had to put it off. He had to put off what that black-haired blue-eyed demon of a psychiatrist had told him would find him. _He had to hold her._

"Kate," he said again, walking numbly to stand behind her. She stood, too, and he blanched. She didn't want to be near him, of course. He stretched his arms, allowing his face to drop. _No._ He reached out and caught her shoulder, "Kate." He pulled her to him, delighted when she turned round. And he held her, just as he'd known he had to.

Something was wrong. His senses tingled, he held her waist tighter, she was sliding away from him. His shoulder was wet. She was crying again.

"He hurt..." she whispered with labored breaths, slipping from his grasp and falling to her knees at his feet, tearing her fingers through her hair nervously, "he hurt." She rocked back and forth gently, the skin around her eyes pink and tender from tears.

"I had to."

Sawyer crouched beside her, self-image forgotten. He reached his hand to her shoulder again, touching it softly. What was there to say? _Everything's gonna be okay._ The words were on the tip of his tongue, so why couldn't he say them? "S'ok," he said instead, gruffly, squeezing her shoulder.

"Fire," Kate said, her eyes wide, sounding like a child, "It was a bad thing."

_Harder and harder now, her foot was pressing down on the gas pedal. It was like a strange, delirious high. She couldn't stop moving, but she didn't want to go. She wanted to take her foot off the gas, but it was frozen in place. It was a good thing, too, that the long, straight road was empty that night, as the little silver bullet of a car flying down it would not have hesitated to shear through anything in its way._

_A sharp feeling of guilt struck up inside her. She'd just left him there. Lying in the mud, the rain. On the side of the road. She felt nauseous, barely able to keep her eyes on the quickly passing road. What if he got sick? What if he was run over? Her heart beat faster with each notion. What if he died?_

_**I could always go back,** she thought, sure for a but a moment that she would do so. She shook the thought from her mind, jerking the wheel suddenly to keep the car from swerving into the shoulder of the road. He couldn't die. He was a horrible man, sick, awful. Oh the things he'd said, just to make her cry. She gritted her teeth. It didn't matter. He didn't deserve it any more than..._

_She looked up, startled, as she became aware of the fact that she had been looking down at her pale, thin hands, a burning white as they clutched the wheel tightly. She gasped, terrified. There was a large, tan log spread across the stretching black road, it shone lucidly in the headlights of the marshal's car. Mustering a great deal of strength, Kate forced her foot from its spot on the gas pedal, flooring the brake with a huge kick. The wheels of the car made a horrible screeching noise on the soaking asphalt outside. She felt as if her head would burst-- the car was not going to stop._

_The old model's weak, failing brakes slowed the car to a rolling halt, but only after it collided with the rough bark of the fallen tree. The car's low-set headlights shattered, its left light went out._

_She let go of the wheel, holding her hands, stretched, above it, looking around. Her wide, green eyes flashed. Clutching the wheel once more, she shook herself violently as she held it, jaws tight, tears spilling copiously down her cheeks, "No!" A loud, scratching scream rent the hot, dry air inside the car. She shook her head vigorously, unlocking the door and kicking it open, tumbling out of the driver's seat and into the watery mud pooling at the side of the road._

_She lay, huddled there, on her knees, "N-no." She said, more quietly this time, balling her fists and lifting them above her head. With another yell, she brought them down into the muddy water, unabashedly slapping the surface of the mud and splashing it into her face, her eyes, her hair. Her tears, hot and salty, mingled now with the cool, fresh rain, and, had it not been for her swollen, reddening face, one could not have told she had cried at all._

_Still sobbing, another sharp feeling struck her-- but this one was not of guilt. It was amazement. She opened her eyes, the dark water surrounding her was blurred, whitened by various exploding, melting spots that burst fantastically, like fireworks, before her. The spots reminded her painfully of the fire, the explosion she had caused. She had witnessed it with a final, fleeting glance over her shoulder. Now she wished she had never looked back. Her stomach hurt-- now she wished she had never done it._

_**Could have told someone. It could have stopped it.** The thoughts placated her, though she knew, with a sickening sense of disgust and relief, that she'd done what she had to. But now, now it would never go away, she let out another, smaller cry. Letting her arms fall into the slowly rising water, she turned her face up to the heavens again, opening her mouth to scream. A tiny rasping noise escaped her lips, and now it was silent, aside from the calm, murmuring susurration of the rain. Unblinking, she let the falling water wash into her eyes, her mouth, her nose. The marshal, she thought, stomach lurching, did not deserve to die. No matter what he said to her, he didn't deserve it._

_Wayne was the only one who had. She felt justified, to her extreme discontent-- justified in what she'd done to him. **Wayne is gone now... and the only person left who doesn't deserve this life... is me.**_

It was silent now, save the occasional sniffle. His hand was still upon her shoulder, and her hands were on her face. She hid herself, as though ashamed she had cried in front of him. "Sorry," she said at long last, looking up again, biting her lip, mouth turned down.

He sat back, letting his hand fall to her arm, his own eyes wide. Guiltlessly, he let his surprise to show on his chiseled features, fighting to keep his mouth closed. Kate had killed a man. She actually had, just as she'd said she had. He looked her over. She couldn't be capable of that... right? Yet here she was, whimpering, crying for the murder of her step-father. _Maybe they weren't so different, after all._

He shook his head. No. They weren't the same. He had been different, he scowled, he would always be different. Especially from her. She looked up with a small cough, clearing her throat, "You wanna share?" Her face was flat, emotionless, but her mouth had contorted into a sad, meek sort of smile.

The heated feeling of rage boiled up inside him, and for an instant, he wanted to yell at her. His face softened upon looking at her, and he withdrew his arm, propping himself up on it as he leaned further back to scan her again. She looked miserable, but her face wasn't swollen now, and because it was no longer blotchy and red, he could see the vague sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

He had never told anyone what he'd done, and now she was asking. Was this another favor? He couldn't let her down again. This would make it right. He swallowed heavily. _To Kate,_ he thought, cheering himself. "Okay," he said in a near whisper, careful to make sure his voice was not too quiet or soft.

Kate sat still, surveying him. Eyes finally resting on his, she nodded briefly, focusing on his words as his mouth began slowly, haltingly, to move.

"You know the... the letter," he said, feeling a little angry again now. _Wait. Why should she know this?_ He looked up at her for the sign of disinterest he knew must be upon her face. Nothing, there was nothing there. Just those same, attentive eyes, locking with his, waiting for him to continue, a serious expression on her face. She nodded again.

He gulped, his throat dry. He fidgeted, dragging the backpack to him, unzipping it and removing an Oceanic water bottle, filled with clear spring water. It was lukewarm to the touch. He shrugged, unscrewing the white cap and taking a long swig. "You know about the letter," he said again, feeling the tight, cramping sensation in his chest that he knew all too well begin to loosen a bit, "you know what happened..." his voice fell to a ragged murmur, "I was in Australia... to find the guy." With each word, his throat grew more dry and hot, despite the gulp of water he had just taken, yet the constricted feeling inside him was lessening. Now he couldn't stop.

Kate nodded to herself again, her eyes falling again as his gaze found her. Her eyes were gleaming, glossy once more, "Oh," Kate whispered softly.

Sawyer let out a slow, measured breath, "I never found him..." he said, irritated with himself, "I'm never going to."

_A tall, grizzled, blonde man set the tiny, transparent glass down on the plastic countertop with a resounding clinking noise, gesturing to the bartender for another shot of Vodka. Distractedly, the man obeyed his request, satiating the southern man's need for alcohol. He lifted the glass to his lips, tossing the clear liquid into his throat, which it washed freely down, burning his insides as he swallowed it. He glared around, vision swimming a little for a moment. _

_It was a seedy place, or rather, he realized, twitching his upper lip, just a downright disgusting one. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and there were laughing, drunken faces all around, cheeks rosy from the humidity and their drinks. If only he could laugh now. He beckoned to the bartender again, who came over, laughing now from something a tipsy customer had whispered in his old, withering ear, "This is yer fifth one, Sawyer," he said with another wheezing laugh as he poured the glass._

"_Yeah, I'll pay before I go," Sawyer snarled, snatching the shot glass again._

_The man peered at him, studying him from under heavy, bristling, white eyebrows, "You been cryin'?" his voice sobered instantly, and his wrinkled, leathery cheeks fell._

_Sawyer tried to restrain himself. The man was old, he reasoned, thinking of what he had done just hours ago. That man had been old, too. And so was the man he was looking for... "It's rainin' outside," he said coldly, poorly controlling the anger in his voice._

"_Oh," said the old man, his own southern accent suppressed._

_Shaking himself on the rickety barstool on which he sat, he murmured under his breath as the hapless old man retreated to serve more customers, "Jackass."_

_Everyone came here to wash it all away-- to forget. So why, after five shots of Vodka, could he not? He tugged at his hair, setting the glass down again. **Really fucked up this time.** The familiar thought recurred, striking him painfully. **I'm just one big fuck up, then.** It wasn't going to change, ever. He'd killed the wrong guy, and now the poor son of a bitch was lying dead in the rain, shot by someone he didn't even know. He couldn't stop himself planning on what he'd do to Hibbs once he saw him again. Hibbs had lied. That was all there was to it. It couldn't be his own fault._

_Extending an arm, he gripped the little glass in his hand, closing his fingers around it. He couldn't let go of this, everywhere he went, the letter was in his pocket. It always would be. His fingers tightened around the glass, where was Frank Sawyer, anyway? He felt his fingers growing numb from his hold on the little cup. What if the bastard wasn't even out there anymore? What if he was dead? The thought burned him, just like the Vodka has his throat._

"_Hey," there was a hard tap on his shoulder, and a rusty, familiar voice addressed him in a New York accent. _

_That was the man himself-- the one who had lied to him. He could tell before he turned around that Hibbs would be standing there. The man's reddish hued skin and deep-wrinkled forehead met Sawyer's eyes. Sawyer's shoulders tensed, and a loud, hollow crack shattered the thick, stale air. He opened his hand, looking to it, slightly surprised. Long, shining shards of laid in his palm, from which fresh blood was trickling. Tossing the glass from his hand, he stood, balling his fists._

"_What d'you want?" Sawyer barked, coming face to face with the man._

"_Well," Hibbs laughed, spreading his hands wide, "that's no way to talk to your employ-"_

_His blood-drenched fist made contact with the side of the man's face, producing a satisfying whacking noise. Sawyer withdrew his hand. Hibbs staggered backwards, his own hand to his cheek. Looking offended and angry, the red-faced man regained his balance, taking an aggressive step towards Sawyer, "Hey now, Son."_

_Swinging back, Sawyer threw another punch at the man, this one landing squarely on his left shoulder. Hibbs' arm jerked back grotesquely, and he crashed into one of the wrought-iron stools in the little bar, falling clumsily to his back. There was a tremendous clattering sound as the man's falling body and the stool overturned a flat-topped table, causing it to fall over onto a swaggering man with a beard._

_Sawyer jumped up instantly, maintaining a steady walk as he strode to the door, flicking blood from his cut hand. It was still raining outside, and he couldn't help thinking of the man, laying by a dumpster, with a gunshot wound-- he shivered._

_The door of his small, black car slammed after him as he jumped inside. With a huge sigh, he felt himself fall into a crumpled heap on the faded seat cover. **That all I'm good for? Beating the shit out of people and shooting innocent guys? Hell, that damn bastard probably is dead, for all I know.**_

_Driving down Sydney's main traffic vein, the sparkling lights of downtown faded from view. There was nowhere to go. The hotel room was far away, it would be useless to try and get there as fast as he wanted to go someplace right now. Cars whizzed past him at alarming rates of speed. Blurred, incoherent images of car wrecks flitted through his mind. An idea came to him. Without a second thought, he slammed his foot on the gas pedal. **I deserve to die.**_

Kate felt vindicated, she had been right, she thought, they were the same. Yet her tears were flowing anew -- she wanted to say sorry to Sawyer, for what he'd done. She wanted to hug and to hold him, to make everything right for him. He would have none of that, so instead she kept his gaze, struggling to keep the tears from welling out of her eyes, she licked her lips, "See?" she said, almost inaudibly.

Sawyer looked away. The odd stinging feeling from under the tree on the beach had returned to him, and he wanted nothing more than to hide it. His heart beat freely, and the knot in his throat was not one of self-hatred or disappointment. Looking back at Kate, he found her to be shivering again, clutching her knees once more.

"C'mere," he said, steadying a shaking voice, dusting off the ground beside him with a thickly callused hand.

Kate looked uneasily at him. She moved her legs slightly, "okay."

"Tired?" he asked, the question sounding strange to his ears.

"Yeah," Kate murmured, laying herself down on the spot he had indicated, and curling up on her side, hands beneath the side of her head.

He watched her for a moment, worry scarring his face when she continued to shiver. Slowly, gently, he settled himself down beside her, curling his body around hers, placing a hand on her shoulder. The cliff hove into view again, and the well-known stabbing feeling jarred his stomach muscles. A wave of an indescribable feeling washed over and through him, chilling him to the marrow; more than the cool night air ever could. _Sorry Kate. I have to._ He couldn't say it -- maybe thinking it would suffice.

_Dark hair whipping behind her, she was down in the hatch again, looking around every corner, searching desperately for something. A look of anger and irritation was upon her face, and she was forcefully avoiding his following eyes. "Where's Jack?" she called loudly, hoping Locke would answer her query._

"_Lookin' for you," Sawyer said jealously, "Miss Priss."_

"_Shut the hell up, Sawyer," Kate sneered rather uncharacteristically, finally looking at him. Her face softened a little as their eyes met._

"'_Scuse me?" Sawyer shot, surprised at her words. Kate was never so... blunt. This was an act. Clearly._

"_Did you say something to him?" Kate asked sharply, walking towards the bunk bed and Sawyer's outstretched form._

"_Well, Freckles," Sawyer began frankly, "I'm a little more concerned with what you said to him. Did somethin' about me come up? Or does your doctor just like to accuse people of hurtin' his precious princess' feelings?"_

_A sharp pain stung at his right cheek. He lifted a hand to it, rubbing the smarting flesh, "What was that for?" Kate was standing above him, eyes flaming, one hand raised above her, ready to strike again._

"_Don't talk about him like that!" She said shrilly, "Just don't."_

"_Sorry," Sawyer said sarcastically, the hurt and envy in his voice becoming more and more obvious by the second, "I forgot you two were in love."_

"_Shut up, Sawyer," she said again, letting her hand fall limply to her side, looking defeated._

"_Aha!" He declared loudly, jumping up from the bed and weaving around her so that he was free in the open room, "So you are."_

_Kate shook her head a little, everything in her body, her crossed arms, her pursed lips, her squeezed shut eyes, saying 'no'. "Jealous?" she asked, contradicting the signs she was giving._

"_Not a bit," he said, looking down at her, narrowing his eyes._

_She wheeled around to face him, voice elevated to what could be taken for a scream, "It was just a favor, you know? Don't you care about other people, at all?" She leaned forward, pushing him away from her with her hands, collapsing back onto the side of the bed._

"_What, this is my fault now?" He asked, incredulous, "Just because you can't find your damn boyfriend doesn't have anything to do with the stupid favor." He stepped back, stumbling against the side of the couch and falling back onto it, as well._

"_Stupid?" she asked, face chalky, "Stupid favor? Me surviving once we get away from here is a stupid favor?"_

"_Sorry to break it to ya', sweetcheeks, but we ain't gettin' off this island..." he paused, pushing himself, annoyed, up off the couch, "And even if we do, I ain't gonna watch over you. Get Saint Jack to do that for you."_

"_You don't get it, do you?" She said, quieter this time, the husky growl in her voice sounding nothing like her._

"_Selfish, are we now, Kate?" He leered, waving her away with a flick of his wrist, "I don't have time for you."_

"_You're telling **me** about selfish?" she laughed, a cold, triumphant laugh._

_Approaching her again, he stared menacingly down into her eyes, sorely regretting ever promising not to hit a lady. "Get out," he said quietly._

"_No," she said defiantly, reaching out to give him another shove away from her._

"_Get the hell out!" he roared into her face, "I don't have time for you!"_

_Kate looked injured, startled at first, but soon her fearful eyes turned into sad, shining ones, tainted with a fury he head never known her to have, "Yeah." She whispered weightily, her words sounding unusually bitter, "Yeah, 'cause you're so busy doing other things, aren't you, Sawyer? You'll never care about anyone but yourself. You're just a selfish bastard, and you'll never be anything else! You're useless, Sawyer. I don't want anything to do with you."_

"_Yeah, Kate?" he called after her as her footsteps faded into the hatch's airlock, not counting on her to hear the next words, "Yeah, I don't care about you. In fact, you know what? I don't want anything to do with you either."_

_The words found Kate's ears, and she left the hatch in search of Jack, feeling dizzy and ill, wanting, no, needing to fall over and never get up. He couldn't have meant that, could he?_

It was a long way down. The thought came to him again. It looked painful. He couldn't help but be delighted by this -- he deserved it. White tree roots crawled up the bottom half of the rocky cliff-face, but towards the top there was nothing but cold, jagged, unforgiving stone. It wouldn't be hard. Just close your eyes, and... He looked over the edge again, horrified at his sense of apprehension. It hadn't broken the case open, so would it break him? He shrugged, shaking out his left leg, thrilled by the loss of balance that resulted, causing him to wobble dangerously on the cliff's edge.

He looked to the east. Vaguely, just over the tops of the smallest, weakest trees in the jungle, he could see faint, velvety rays of sunlight fading the dark onset of the night. The stars were going out. Millions of little lives -- destroyed. The new light revealed a lovely, dark shade of green in the canopy, coloring the ground strikingly. He inched a foot close to the end of the cliff, watching its most brittle edges crumble and fall to the ground under his weight.

"Sawyer."

There was that beautiful voice again. He allowed himself a small smile. Something about it was warm, yet steely, too. And everything about it seemed to fit into the island. Maybe the island was talking to him, he mused. Yes, that could be the voice of the island itself. Beautiful, and horrible. Everything. He blinked softly -- who was it, really? He faced about, and she stood there, just as at home in this green-painted world as her voice had been. Her eyes matched the color in the canopy. A ripple of her dark, richly shaded hair tumbled over her left shoulder, and a look of hunger shone on her features.

"Take me with you," she said, her voice, again, just as arresting as her eyes, "I want to go with you." She held out a long, thin arm, as though expecting him to take it. He shook his head firmly, not wanting to speak. He didn't deserve to speak to her.

"Please," she said, taking a light step in his direction, "you know what I've done," she looked down, regret lighting her face, "I know what you've done. Why should I stay, when you leave?"

He looked her over, speaking in spite of himself, "Kate," he said gruffly, "you deserve to stay."

"I want to stay with you," she said again, determined, "I want to go with you. We can go. Together. We'll stay together."

He had to admit to himself, he was in love with the idea. He was jumping to tell her 'yes', to tell her to come with him. It would be an awfully selfish thing to do. With a sudden ache, he remembered her words; 'You're a selfish bastard." He was just a selfish bastard. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted her to be with him. She wanted to go with him. It was just like making up for the favor he had never been able to aid her with, after all. They could go together.

Unaware of what he was doing, Sawyer raised his arms to her, tilting his head to call her to him. Slowly, gracefully, she glided over to him, her feet seeming not to touch the rough, gray stone. When she was beside him, he wrapped his arms gratefully around her, "I'm sorry."

Holding him tightly she nodded her head, squeezing her eyes snugly shut, "Me too."

"You ready?" Sawyer asked, unable to stop his own heart from beating wildly, without pattern, rhyme or reason, in his chest.

"Yeah," Kate whispered into his shirt, nodding decisively.

Together, they took a step to the right. Sawyer's heart dropped when his foot came in contact with nothing but air. He held her tighter, as they stepped, again in unison, once more. Suddenly they were plummeting, down, down...

A horrific snapping noise rang through the air. A terrible pain tore through his leg. Heavy, labored breathing came from beside him. He was still holding Kate. They had hit the ground, and they were both still breathing. He couldn't move.

"Kate?" he mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say.

Silence. The breathing stopped beside him. Her body grew limp, and he became increasingly aware of the blood spilling from a gash in her arm.

"Kate?"

"Yeah?" The tired, failing peep of a voice, the island's voice, came to him.

"I'll do it... I'll take care of you."

---------------------

"_It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all."_


End file.
